#has been a day. spent all night curled up on the heating pad waking up every few hours in horrible pain because it turns off automatically

[milkweedman]

Things recently. That damn commission scarf is taking up almost all my time recently, but there is finally light at the end of the tunnel (im working on stripe 11 of 17, and promised to have it all done by the 14th... which means a little walkin around money for the fiber festival on the 15th >:) very excited).

Have been experimenting with the dutch oven, bc ive never used one and its very small. Liking the results though.

Also have been frequenting the farmer stall at the nursery down the street and got a few of the last of this years peaches, which resulted in two jars of very nice peach jam and a small jar of peach syrup, which my sister is gonna take for a chicken of the woods and waffles feast her friend is doing next week. Had some of the excess jam on some poppyseed bread toast and it was very good--light and tart and summery. The plan for this winter is lots of bread and jam and welsh cakes and barmbrack and pirozhkiy. Looking forward to it somewhat, altho i have a feeling its going to be a very cold winter this year. Also, not sure if i should plant the leeks right now so we can harvest some baby ones in the winter... my sister is obsessed with the idea of glamorgan sausages and it would be nice to try with leeks from the garden...

[tteokdoroki]

all the love in the world | k.bakugou.

⇝ pairing: katsuki bakugou x fem!reader.

⇝ word count: 5.1K

⇝ rating: 18+, mature.

⇝ genre: pro hero!au, engaged!au, fluff and smut.

⇝ summary: as hard to believe as it may seem, bakugou lives for time off, where the days begin with him waking up by your side and  end with him falling asleep right next to you, while he thinks of all the ways he can love you during the hours in between.

⇝ warning(s): please read ! fluffy domestic bakugou ( i think this needed a warning okay? ), smut ( characters aged up to 20s ), soft morning sex, fingering ( female recieving ), dry humping, light!praise, heavy!breeding kink, switch!reader, dom!bakugou.

⇝ author’s note(s): hellooo my loves ! as a celebration of me reaching 100+ followers, i bring you my very first written imagine !! i love the idea of domestic baku so i hope you enoy reading as i did writing !! special thanks to @ozzy-bozzy​ for the teddy bear bracelets idea hehe

⇝ masterlist | requests

katsuki bakugou considered himself to be a very lucky person.

when he was younger he’d been blessed by a powerful quirk which only lead him to exceed his classmates back in U.A. he’d graduated said school’s hero course top of his class, even if he’d failed his provisionals the first time round— nothing could stop him from becoming the best.

so when the hot headed blonde bagged the role of side kick at a top hero agency and then launched himself to the highest points in the hero charts as a pro later on, katsuki felt like all of his dreams had come true.

that was until, he’d proposed to you.

you were katsuki’s final dream, for him to wait for you at the end of the aisle— your watery smile just for him. 

that’s the vision he saw in his sleep. when you had said yes to him, the night you got engaged under the stars and amongst the roses, it was then that the explosive hero had realised how lucky he truly was.

he had loved you for a long time, katsuki had— he almost couldn’t remember the time when he hadn’t. in the time that you’d spent together; soft gazes and lingering touches, you’d taught him a lot and he’d learned through your tolerance and generosity, something that had rubbed off on him, something he’d so desperately needed to cool down his hot demeanour.

he was grateful for a lot of things, all of the things you’d taught him— but mostly the entirety of you. while you’d always said that neither of you completed each other and only made one another better, bakugou knew that his life would be complete with you in it forever.

 he knew  from the moment you’d pinned him down underneath you during training back in high school— that he was going to make you his wife someday.

“jesus katsu, why’re you up s’early? it’s supposed to be our day off,” you mumble into your silk sheets; his scent sewn into your pillows. katsuki likes the orange silk that lines your bed; mostly because of the colour and partly because other fabrics irritate his skin. with sleepy eyes, you blink up at the blonde and catch him staring mid act. like always, bakugou looks away with a heated blush and paws it away from his cheeks. “whatcha lookin’ at dummy?”

one of kastuki’s favourite things is the way you look when you first wake up, groggily rubbing the sleep away from your eyes with a pout on your lips as the sun hits your face just right— creating a halo effect around you, like you’re his guardian angel…but he wouldn’t ever admit that to you, at least not until his wedding vows. “it’s the only time i get to look at you without hearin’ the dumb shit that comes out your mouth, woman.” katsuki grumbles back, finally meeting your eyes again.  

he can clearly see the love glittering your irises and the faint smile that plays teasingly on your lips as if you know that he’s joking. unwillingly; bakugou feels himself mirror the grin that you bare and a happy warmth then spreads across his chest.

“we still have the whole day ahead for you to ogle me like that katsuki bakugou,” you hum sweetly, the tail end of your words falling into a light giggle. the ash blonde feels his heart flutter just from the sound; a candied melody to his ears that he could never get tired of hearing. 

reaching over your shoulder, katsuki uses his warm hands to roll you over onto his awaiting lap. 

your arms instinctively wrap around his neck as the sheets fall from your body to reveal yourself in one of his shirts with an old merch design and your fingers weave their way into his pretty blonde hair. 

now that you’re in his lap; the pro hero can see the smirk making its way into your face as you look down at him lovingly. “seems like you were doing more than just looking baby…”

your hips grind down against your lover’s now prominent erection that sits hidden in his dark sweats— earning a slight gasp from the man himself. “s-shut up, dumbass…” bakugou growls through gritted teeth while you move above him. 

his words stay lodged in his throat, he wants to tell you that you’re always on his mind no matter what he’s doing or looking at but instead they die down as he drops his head to your neck, leaving sweet kisses along the column of it.

early morning love making with you was what katsuki bakugou considered one of his many blessings. he loves being this close to you— feeling every dip in your skin and kissing every mark on your body, his lips work their way up from your jawline to your chin and finally attempting to land a solid kiss to your own lips.

“nuh, katsu—“ your breathless whine fills the air, sending shivers down the spine of the man below you. he moves up to kiss you again, gripping your hips tightly while your movements begin to sync. “no, morning…morning breath…”

bakugou huffs, hand finding the back of your head to tilt it down into a soft liplock— contrasting with the harshness of his earlier movements. “fuck morning breath, i haven’t made love to you properly in a fucking week so let me kiss you. fuck.” usually, katsuki would have added his salty pet name of ‘shitty woman’ to the tail end of his phrases but he bites his tongue, saving it for later.

you give into your fiancé then, falling in love with the way his lips meld against yours so passionately all over again. fingers that belong to bakugou dance underneath your shirt, finding you bare within the fabric. one hand slips between your plush thighs, smoothly rubbing circles into your swelling clit ever so gently.

your breath hitches as katsuki traps you under his touch, playing with your folds as they begin to grow slick and form a wet patch on his deep grey sweats, making him groan. 

the explosive pro pushes two of his digits past your entrance, curling them and watching with sparkling scarlet eyes as your mouth hangs open in of the prettiest moans katsuki’s ever heard— his mouth falls open with you while your head tilts back, exposing your sweat glimmering skin to the sun’s rays. “feel good baby? yeah, you like that?” he mumbles condescendingly, slowly pumping them inside of you. “yeah you do,  yeah you fuckin’ do.”

“yeah, katsu...more…” a  breathless moan escapes you with every thrust of bakugou’s hot fingers, the cheeky bastard setting off small scale explosions to stimulate you from within. he’s hot, the heat from his body filling the space between you and spreading right down to your glistening mound— causing slick to gush from your tiny abused hole. 

you can feel his cock pulse beneath you with every twist of his fingers to reach that spongy pleasure spot deep within your leaking hot walls.

katsuki’s thick fingers stretch open your tiny hole, making your mouth water at the thought of his weighty cock being the next thing press into you but your raging thoughts are swiftly interrupted by your fiancé— who pulls from you completely and sucks the two fingers into his mouth to lick them clean of your sweet nectar.

katsuki keeps his vermillion eyes locked on you, the lewd action making saliva pool on your tongue. his own pink muscle darts out to wet his lips, no doubt spreading the taste of you across them before making a move to kiss you. 

the pro is quickly stopped, your hands that once roamed his bare back and messed hair, now pinning his own above his head.

bakugou is a strong man, he wouldn’t have been a top hero if he wasn’t— he trained constantly and sparred often with his fellow heroes but he doesn’t resist when you grip his wrists in your free hand, releasing his hard cock from it’s restraints before it slaps against his well toned stomach.

milky precum leaks against his warm skin, while you prepare yourself to mount him. the pair of you let out a groan in unison as you sink down on the hero’s thick length— as if the tensions and stresses of the week have melted away just him being sheathed inside of you.

“mnnn, so fuckin’ tight baby, gonna need to fuck you open again…”

bakugou’s voice is low and gravelly from the early morning, just how you like as his hips roll up into yours— further pushing his fat cock into you. his tip barely grazes your cervix  as you set the pace, lifting yourself up and down to bounce on your lover’s length. 

the way you feel inside, your soft velvety walls and gushing pussy make him buck up into you with more fever, as his own symphony of moans and weightless gasps dance through your ears. “yeah? take this pussy katsuki…m-make it yours,” you sigh, grip on his wrists loosening to the point where you set him free.  the blonde’s hands immediately move to grip your ass tightly— smirking at you lazily while the pads of his fingers sink into your flesh.

you look beautiful to him, bouncing on his cock and dripping all over his pelvis under the early morning sun, the way the gold lights up your hazy lust filled eyes.  

the fire of desire burns brightly in the depths of katsuki’s stomach, love finds its way into each of his thrusts from then on— mind clouding with the desire to fill you up so good with his love as the leaking  head of his thick girth drags against your walls, prodding at the spot that has you seeing stars. “that’s right yn baby…fuck that cock, fuck yeah baby,” he whispers brokenly to you, chest rising and falling desperately while sweat beads on his hairline. “love you, love you s’much...”

bakugou watches your gaze on him soften at his confession, the words he doesn’t say often but shows you everyday still hanging in the thick, warm air.  “i love you katsu, p-please,” your erratic thrusts slow to somewhat of a passionate grind, two lovers pressed hotly against one another as the sounds of your moans twist with that of skin on skin.

knot in your stomach tightening, katsuki can feel your release creeping on you from the way you clench around him at every plunge deep inside your sweet hole. strong arms wrap around you, katsuki noticing how you shake from pleasure above him while he brings you down onto loving thrusts as if to draw you closer. 

“gonna cum!”

your fiancé nods into your neck, rubbing smooth circles over your back as he pulls out of your heat completely and earns a needy whine from you. your hole spasms around nothing, right on the edge of release before bakugou forces his girth back into your accepting pushing. “cum for me angel, right on this cock,” he pants, holding you close while he rocks into you. “i've got you baby, let it all out…”

“mph, baku-! oh !”

hips stilling above his, you scratch and claw at any part of bakugou’s skin that you can— shaking as your release splashes against him, sending your eyes rolling to the back of your head and white spots dancing across your vision. the tightness of your heat drives the pro right over the edge, hot ropes of thick cum painting your insides white as his release reaches your womb.

the pair of you lay still, catching your breath as you collapse forward on your lover’s chest. while your breathing slows, katsuki rubs warming circles into your back to help calm you down— only smiling softly when you look up at him with clear, affectionate eyes. “did so good for me yn, fuckin’ love it when you take my cock like that first thing in the morning,” his words are soft on his usually sharp tongue, bakugou smoothing a thumb over your cheek while using a forefinger to tilt your head up into a sweet kiss

“always and only for you, my love,” you hum, eyes fluttering shut at the simple gesture even after you pull away. “and if you keep cummin’ in me like that katsuki ‘m gonna end up pregnant one of these days…”

bakugou smirks, pressing smaller kisses all over your face to make you giggle. you smile and greedily accept each one, loving the these tender moments between yourself and your fiancé.  “maybe that’s the fucking point, dumbass,”  he quips, biting on your cheek after landing a kiss there. “trying to put a shitty little brat in you.”

despite the small bite to his words, a blush still manages to creep its way onto katsuki’s face as you lay your head down on his chest with a smack to his waist. the ash blonde means every word and you know it too, he can tell by the knowing smile and slight gleam in your eye.

you fall back asleep not long after bakugou cleans you up.

he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy counting every mark and bite he’d left on you as he tenderly wiped between your thighs and massaged over your skin. 

but he loved how cute you looked when curled up on his chest more, your hand clings to bakugou’s shoulder as if to check he’s still there even in your sleep— giving the hero ample opportunity to play with the ‘teddy bear’ bracelet thats cuffed to your wrist. you’d made it for one of your anniversaries; matching the ‘grizzly bear’ one on his own.

prying himself from your arms is no easy task for katsuki, your grip on him like an adorable iron vice or a child with a teddy bear. after setting himself free, the ash blonde with the crimson eyes heads down to the kitchen to make breakfast for the two of you— it was some what of a routine on your days off together, you always got the munchies after sex and bakugou knew just how to soothe your roaring appetite.

as he worked with the eggs and other breakfast ingredients, katsuki thought back to how much you praised him for his skills in the kitchen— he knew how much you loved his cooking and he would do anything to see you smile.

“god katsuki, i might have to start taking more days off it means i get to see my grizzly bear in the kitchen like this,” you hum from place leaning against the door frame. 

your fiancé turns round to face you with a light smirk, glimmering eyes inviting you further into the room. the explosive pro holds the sizzling pan he’d taken off the stove high above your head as you cuddle into his side, breathing in his warm caramel scent.

katsuki clicks his tongue, staring down at you fondly. “tell that to the fucking villains who fuck up the city every other day, maybe then we’d have more time to relax.” he counters, pulling a sweet chuckle from your sweet lips.

“if we start handing out your cooking, they’ll probably start turning themselves in!” you tease your lover back, swiping a bit of the pancakes from the pan above your head. katsuki grumbles and pats your ass indulgently— the supple skin peaking out from under the shirt that’s found it’s way back over your form. it’s a silent scold for eating before he’s fixed you a plate of all your favourites.

as usual bakugou pulls out your chair at the table, pressing his lips to your hairline before putting your steaming plate in front of you. your mouth waters while katsuki takes his seat opposite you with rolling eyes as he watches you tuck in to your breakfast. 

the entirety of your meal is filled with lingering gazes and hums of delight while you eat, almost as if you’re back on your first date ( bakugou spent half of the time watching you eat rather than doing so himself, but he just wanted to see if you liked the place ). 

leaning over the table to wipe syrup from your chin, the blonde smirks— quiet words falling calmly from his lips. “what do you want to do today, sweetheart?”

the birds chirps lovingly outside of your window, dancing under the sunshine— they remind you of your early mentor and often patrol partner hawks, who you needed to remember to invite to dinner soon. 

the weather is nice today and that gives you an idea. “let’s go out,” your eyes sparkle with a million dreams, each one bakugou wants to live out with you. “to the park with the roses, the pink ones where you—“

“where i proposed, got it,” katsuki smiles, the fond memory catching the tail end of his words. “i hear they introduced some new blooms too.”

you mirror his expression; stabbing your fork through a strawberry in the bowl of fresh fruit your lover had prepared for you. you hold the fork out to his lips and watch amusedly as he chomps the fruit from its place. “care to escort me, lover bear?”

“who else is going to? dumbass.”

“miss nightsky ! will ya sign my bag!”

“that’s a nice bag sweet one, you sure i can sign it?”

katsuki loves the way you are with kids, even though you’re a massive child yourself.

the pair of you decided to walk to the park; since the nice weather held up and it wasn’t too far from your private neighbourhood— even though it took a little longer to get there than expected. 

not that either of you minded, but many curious fans stopped to talk and ask for pictures; some even asked for autographs which you happily gave them. while the mighty ground zero was slightly grumbly about it, he adored how kind and patient you were with everyone you met no matter how old they were.

his vermillion eyes, though brownish looking under golden light, sparkle as you ruffle the little kid’s hair and wave politely to their awaiting parents. bakugou wants to have kids with you one day. 

it was something he hadn’t really thought about until recently, he knew it would be difficult, with both of you reaching the heights of your careers and the pair of you were still very private about your relationship as well, with word of your recent engagement already slipping into the tabloids.

there was no doubt that they’d speculate about your marriage too, no matter how private you kept it. keeping a child secret would be even harder. 

and yet; the thought of you holding a baby…his baby would, on some nights lull him to sleep.

you squeal like a little girl when the ash blonde stops to buy you an ice cream from a van by the entrance of the park; he can’t stand how much you love mint chocolate chip but buys you a towering double scoop anyways.  “how do you even eat that toothpastey shit?” bakugou grumbles, finishing off his orange popsicle as you walk into the flower garden.

“says the one who likes orange, you have no taste katsuki bakugou.” you chide but take his freehand nonetheless. the explosive pro’s thumb brushes over the back of your hand while you make your way through and he can’t help but pluck one of the pretty blooms from the bushes to tuck behind your ear.

you scold him for taking the flowers but your smile betrays you as katsuki dips you for a honeyed kiss on the lips. 

he’s never one for PDA but this was your spot, here just last year bakugou had sunk to his knees in front of you with an expensive diamond ring you were eyeing months before ( you would never say anything but katsuki always picked up on these things ). 

he would also never admit it, but his hand shook with every word that passed his lips and you were sure he had been crying harder than you were while he slipped a ring on your finger.

your secret kisses and tangled limbs hiding deep in the rose bushes are soon completely soaked by an onslaught of unexpected rain.

you shriek at the rain while katsuki grabs your hand, free arms thrown over your heads as you make a dash from the flower garden and head for the main streets in order to catch a bus.

the pair of you giggle as you stumble onto the vehicle, ringing out your drenched clothes and wiping at your wet faces as it heads home. bakugou pulls you into his arms, head resting atop yours to draw you closer— the heat from his quirk allows him to keep you warm and you get a load full of his sugary scent as well ( not that you mind ).

you stay like that on through the rustling traffic, cuddling like a cat to your heated fiancé but a tug on the bottom of bakugou’s wet shirt captures your attention. the pair of you look down to catch the innocent eyes belonging to a darling little girl. “u-uh h-hi mister gwound zewo!” the little one stumbles through her words and in the corner of your eyes you can spot the girl’s mother and give her a reassuring grin.

bakugou’s gaze softens at the curly haired girl and releases you to crouch down to her level despite the shaking bus.  his hand still holds onto yours though. 

he ruffles her hair with his free hand, making your heart warm— there was a side of katsuki the public never really got to see, where the hotheaded pro could be tender and quiet and often quite reserved. 

the media got a kick out of playing on the ash blonde’s explosive nature but moments like this let the real bakugou shine through.

“hey there kiddo, whatcha’ got there?” katsuki mumbles delicatley, noticing the girl hiding something behind her back.

“tisswue! for my favouwite hewo!” the little one says, gingerly holding it out to the blonde’s wet face for him to use. bakugou taps his cheek and cleans closer to let the little girl wipe his face with a tiny chubby hand. they chatter for the rest of the ride home— the girl bashfully twirling her hair around her fingers as katsuki compliments her quirk.

leaning your head on katsuki’s soused shoulder while you walk home, you look up at him with an adoring expression, wondering what he’d be like with a little girl of your own. “that was quiet adorable mister ground zero, you stole my hear away!” you tease, kissing your linked hands.

“yeah? well don’t get used to it shitty woman.” he says through gritted teeth and marches you both through the rain to get you home but the blush on his face tells you otherwise. if you ever had a daughter, you could only imagine what he’d be like with her.

katsuki heads straight for the shower when you get in, leaving you to pick a movie and order takeout as you’d discussed on the way home.

it was a regular routine for you both on nights off; you always picked the movie because if you left it up to your fiancé you’d end up watching some boring documentary on all might or cooking ( he was a closeted nerd at heart ). 

you settle on a cheesy romcom that you’ve seen about a hundred times because for one;  it’s your favourite and two, you’ll never get tired of seeing bakugou cry towards the end of the movie.

“take out should be here in twenty!” you call to your lover, when he passes by you to enter your living room.

“got it, now go wash up before you catch a cold, stupid—“ the ends of katsuki’s words are cut off by your stream of giggles, bouncing off your cream coloured walls. your ash blonde fiancé has half a mind to curse you out for slapping his ass through his fresh set of sweat pants but rolls his eyes nonetheless. 

he finishes pulling his tank top over his head while heading deeper into the room, not wanting to answer the door without one ( as much as your regular delivery driver would like that ).

while in the shower, you manage to scrub away stains of the rain and soreness from the day— washing over sweet love marks from katsuki with pride. a temporary reminder of his eternal love for you and you only. 

there’s already a change of clothes waiting for you when you step out of the shower; one of his old shirts and a set of boxers that you slip into comfortably. your nostrils are filled with nothing but the alluring scent of burning sugar, the traces left by bakugou himself.

he’s already munching on a box of tempura by the time you’ve headed back downstairs, crimson eyes light up when they land on you and you make a dive for the couch— rolling into katsuki’s side. “did you tip the delivery driver?” you ask, watching as your fiancé dips a piece of the food into some sauce before he holds it up to your lips.

“damn right i did, i didn’t wanna though…they kept staring at my arms,” bakugou revels in the way you laugh around the piece of food he pushes into your mouth. you chew with a grateful smile, the look of amusement never leaving your pretty face. “whatcha laughin’ at dumbass?”

“i think you forget how much the public loves your arms, ground zero.”

as soon as you press play on the movie, time seems to fly away from you both— the air is filled with streams of laughter and moments where you swipe from one another’s plates, picking on one another fondly. somehow by the time the film reaches it’s climax the food has been devoured and you’ve ended up huddling into bakugou’s chest. 

fingers laced with yours, bakugou twirls the diamond engagement ring you have on, around your finger, smiling at the precious reminder that you’re to be his forever and always.  “where do you think we’ll be in the future?” you question quietly, nuzzling into your fiancé’s side.

“married, of course.” crimson eyes find yours in the dimly lit room, almost rolling annoyance as if your question is the dumbest thing in the world. in response, you lean up and squish the explosive pro’s cheeks together and beam up at him while he scowls at you.

“stupid, you know that’s not what i meant,” the words despite harsh, leave your lips dreamily and a contented expression crosses your face. “i see us with kids, in a house much bigger than this one and a backyard that stretches for miles and miles—“ your words die warmly in your throat, figuring that you’ve gotten slightly carried away with the fanticies you’ve made for yourself and katsuki. 

in your mind, you can’t help but conjour up a litter of tiny bakugou’s running around a plush green garden— maybe a little dog too and your heart swells in your chest at the idea.

the hot head squeezes your hand, resurfacing you from your sea of thoughts. “you want kids? with me?” his voice is barely above a whisper, all of his vulnerabilities splayed out in the tone as he looks at you warmly.

“a whole family with you, as many as you want.”

suddenly, bakugou has you flipped onto your back and pinned underneath his muscular frame. 

his warm breath fans across your face making your eyes fall heavy with adoration. “four.” the blonde grunts, swooping down to brush his lips gently across yours, not quite kissing you much to your dismay. “i want four of those snotty little gremlins with you, maybe have the fifth by accident and then we’ll get a big fucking house for them to destroy—“

“f-five kids katsu?” you gasp out your words at katsuki starts to press increasingly harsh kisses to your jawline, settling on your neck while he licks over bites he’d left earlier today. 

bakugou murmurs something about ‘you said as many as i want’ before he’s growling at your hands that find their way into his blonde locks, tugging on them tightly as pleasure overwhelms your senses. 

he hums against your sweet skin, finding his place between your legs at the same time as his thoughts take him away from you. he’d love to see you pregnant, so full of his love and his children.

the movie is long forgotten by now as lust settles in every corner of the room. hands push beneath your shirt, groping and massaging your breasts to pull all sorts of sounds from you. 

bakugou forces a knee between your thighs, finally capturing your lips in a hungry and heated kiss— his tongue slips in your mouth after he pinches your thigh, fighting yours in a passionate dance for dominance. “gonna fuck a shitty little brat into you, yn,” katsuki almost whines as he pulls away from your inviting lips to press your foreheads together. you look gorgeous beneath him, flustered with swollen lips from each of your rough kisses and there’s no doubt in his mind you’re thinking the same about him. “gonna fill you up so good, gonna make pretty babies with you, hah?”

“ka-katsuki!” you can’t help but mewl at his breathless sinful words while you fist at his tank top. everything is hot, burning hot and you grind up into him with a newfound desperation, the friction against his hardening length sending your eyes rolling with ecstasy.. “we’re not even— mmm god, right there— we’re not even married yet!”

“gonna be at some point, why waste time fucking trying? not when i can cum in you and give you one right fucking now—“  bakugou moans heavily into your ear, diving back into a sloppy kiss as he fumbles around with the string of his sweatpants. 

you’re whimpering out for him, pulling the blonde into a lustful trance while you make a move to kick off your underwear when the sound of shattering glass pierces through the bubble of horniness you’ve both created. “shit.”

you both freeze and your matching gazes drop to the floor; a rapidly growing stain of red wine spilling onto the carpet under the coffee table your take out was on. 

the fluffy white rug had been a housewarming gift that katsuki begrudgingly accepted from your old school friend and fellow pro, izuku midoriya— so the sight of the now ruined rug makes you both burst out into harmonious laughter. you’re sure the number one wouldn’t mind. it’d make a great wedding story too.

you focus your eyes back on katsuki, cupping his face as that same love filled smile from earlier returns to your face. ”let’s start trying tomorrow, then?”

“tomorrow it is.” bakugou grins back, dotting your hairline with sweet pecks before cuddling into you.

baby making can wait for now, he supposes, for with another day off— he has all the time and all the love in the world to give to you.

[pretendingboyfriends]

A/N: hello baes!! this is a little piece for @tbslenthusiast ‘s dadathon!!! i decided to take a tiny little break from writing dwm to make this, but i hope u enjoy!<3

Warnings: smut, semi public sex, heavy sexual tension, fluffy cute new dad harry, an appearance from anne 

Word count: 4.7k+

Summary: You and Harry are new parents and you finally get a few days alone in the mountains.

“Is she asleep?” You whisper through a yawn as Harry steps through your bedroom door and shuts it quietly behind him.

“I think so,” He sighs, walking over to where you rest on the bed with an open book in your hands. He leans down to press his lips to yours in a brief peck whilst he tugs his large rings off and tosses them onto the bedside table. “M’Surprised it took her so long to tire herself out with all that crying.” 

You chuckle, shaking your head. “She has a lot of power in that tiny body.”

He nods in agreement as he begins to undress at the edge of the bed and you allow your gaze to wander over his figure. He sits himself at the end of the bed with his back facing you as he tugs his shirt off and tosses it onto the floor below. His broad shoulders maneuver and stretch with his movements and you’re tempted to crawl up behind him and wrap your arms around him while pressing your lips to the curve of his jaw. It’s been so long since the two of you were able to have a lasting moment alone and you’re desperate for him. Since the birth of your beloved baby girl nearly three months ago, there’s been no time to do anything but tend to her every need at nearly every moment of every day. Whether she’s crying because she’s hungry, crying because she needs to be changed, or crying because she’s tired, your hands are full. 

You place a bookmark into the spine of your book before closing it and setting it on the bedside table. Through the silence, a heavy blanket of sexual tension fell over the two of you and both of you are itching to lunge at each other. Harry finally pulls the last item of clothing from his body, leaving him in his tight boxer briefs before he’s climbing back onto the bed. He slides beneath the comforter with you and rolls onto his side to face you, propping his head up on his arm.

“Hi,” You hum, turning over to face him as he gazes at you.

He smiles and leans forward, wrapping an arm around your waist and tugging you against him. “Hi.” 

Your own arm loops around his neck as he rolls you onto your back so that he can lean over you, pressing his lips to yours in a much longer kiss than before. His lips move against yours slowly and passionately, leaving you breathless and desperate for him. Your fingers bury themselves into his mop of curls, tugging and gripping at the handfuls of tendrils and causing a low moan to emit from the back of his throat. 

“Missed you so much,” You breathe between kisses.

“Darling,” He groans. “You have no idea.”

His hands wander your frame as he kisses you, gripping every plush curve with a gentle but passionate fervor. Your fingernails bury themselves into the muscles of his bare back and his hand slides down to grip your thigh and tug it over his hip so that he can slot himself between your legs. His hand begins to slowly inch towards the elastic of your shorts, building the suspense of his touch. Just as his fingertips tug at the cloth wrapped around your hips, the crackling static of the baby monitor sitting on the bedside table erupts into the silence and slices through the heated moment. Isla’s cries can be heard through the buzzing static and both of you pull away from each other reluctantly. 

“Jesus fucking christ,” Harry mutters, dropping his head to rest against your sternum as he catches his breath. 

You drag your hands down your face with a long sigh, moving from beneath his body and pushing yourself off of the mattress. “I’ll be right back.”

You saunter out into the hallway towards Isla’s bedroom, her cries growing louder with every step you take. As soon as you step into her bedroom, you begin to coo and shush her soothingly, quickly padding over to her crib. She kicks her chubby little legs, hiccupping through her tears as you reach into the crib, scooping her into your arms. 

“Shhhh, it’s alright,” You coo, rocking the small child side to side in your arms. You reach into the crib to find her pacifier tangled beneath her blanket. “Is this what’s got you all fussy, hm?” You ask, turning the rubber nipple over in your hand to make sure there isn’t any lint or fluff on it before gently coaxing it back into her mouth. Her pathetic cries simmer to a few shaky breaths and hiccups as she suckles on the pacifier and you sigh contendedly. 

“Quite the cockblock, isn’t she?” Harry hums quietly from the doorway behind you and you turn your head to look at him with a tired smile. He shuffles over to where you’re standing, gently placing his hand against the small of your back as he gazes over your shoulder at the tiny child in your arms. As you rock her from side to side, her eyelids begin to grow heavier and heavier, sinking into a deep sleep from the warmth of your body. Harry rests his chin against your shoulder and you both watch her drift off to sleep. 

Eventually, you return her back to her crib, making sure not to wake her as the two of you creep back out into the hallway. 

You step back into your bedroom, shutting the door behind the two of you.“I think we should get away.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I think we should rent a place out of town and get away for a few days. Just the two of us.”

He frowns a little. “What would we do about bubs?”

“Anne could take her,” You shrug, walking back towards the bed. “I think she would be thrilled to have a few days with her grandbaby.”

“That’s true,” He nods, plopping himself onto the edge of the bed, pulling you to stand in front of him. “We’ve never left her for more than a few hours, though.”

“Yeah, I know,” You sigh. “But I need this–we need this.”

“You’re right,” He chuckles, his large hand coming to caress your bare thigh as you stand in front of him, hands resting on his broad shoulders. “M’surprised we haven’t gone insane by now. Haven’t touched you properly in so long…” He trails off quietly, glancing back up into your eyes.

Your bottom lip slips between your teeth as you make eye contact with him. There’s a lick of fire behind his green eyes for a moment, but it vanishes quickly as he composes himself, clearing his throat quietly and letting his hand fall from your skin. “Where should we go?” 

You stop for a moment, mulling over the possibilities of where the two of you could get away to that wouldn’t cause too much of an uproar. “The mountains?” You suggest as you crawl back into your side of the bed across from him. “I bet we could rent a house out there for a few nights.”

He nods, “S’a good place to get away from the paps,”

You hum in agreement, watching as he moves onto his side of the bed beside you and lies back on his pillow. “It’s also a good place to be as loud as we want…” 

He smirks at you, sliding his arms around your waist and tugging you against his chest, “It’s settled, then. We’ll start looking at places to rent tomorrow.” 

*

Turns out, finding a place to rent in the mountains is a lot easier than you thought it would be and nearly 3 days after your initial conversation, you’re already packed and ready to go, dropping Isla off at her grandmother’s house.

“Alright, we have her diaper bag here-” You pull the bag from your shoulder, handing it to Anne, “and that has all her clothes and toys in it as well. Then this bag has all her milk-” You take the other bag from Harry, handing it over to Anne. “I pumped enough for a few days, but if you run out, there’s some formula in there.” You sigh, glancing around you to make sure you had given her everything. “I think that’s it!” 

Anne smiles, setting the bags to the side. “We’re going to have so much fun, right darling?” She crouches down a little to be face to face with your daughter while she sits on your hip, bringing her hands up to tickle her. Isla giggles animatedly, babbling to her grandmother happily as she tickles her. You smile at the two of them, bouncing the child up and down on your hip to entertain her further. 

A few moments pass as you give Anne a few last minute details and then you’re finally passing Isla over into her arms. You can see the panic in her eyes as she realizes what’s happening and Harry leans in, pressing a kiss to her chubby cheek, “We’ll be back before you know it, bubs, don’t worry.” 

You lean in to give her a kiss as well, pressing one to each cheek, “Be good for mommy, okay?” (of course, Isla has no perception of speech yet, but for your own peace of mind, you speak to her like she can understand every word)

The two of you hug her and Anne one last time before sneaking out the door to ensure Isla doesn’t see you leaving, and then you’re off to the mountains. 

*

The drive to the mountain isn’t too long and the weather is beautiful, so you’re able to drive with all the windows down, blasting your favorite tunes. The majority of the trip is spent that way, blasting music and making humorous conversation as the cool breeze sift through the windows. It’s nice to be alone with him for once. Three months of longing eyes and lingering fingers; nothing more than a few stolen kisses with wandering hands. Being together like this, with the anticipation of what’s to come in the moment you’re truly alone with each other, is killing you. The niggling feeling at the back of your mind–the sexual itch that’s aching to be scratched–is building by the second and you can feel it building for Harry, too.

For a while, his hand is resting on his own thigh–fingers mindlessly tapping against his knee as he drives, but at some point during the trip, it migrates to yours. The heat of his hand against your thigh, burning through the fabric of your jeans, causes you to squirm uncomfortably, so you slide your hand beneath his, lacing your fingers between his own and letting both your hands rest in your lap. He glances at you for a moment, a hint of confusion behind his eyes, but he doesn’t question you verbally. You take a deep breath, brushing your thumb over his cross tattoo gently as you cross one of your legs over the other. The air is growing thicker and thicker, despite the windows being ajar, and you’re finding it harder to breathe.

Finally, after hours of trying to contain your breathing and a short trip to a nearby grocery store, you’re pulling into the steep driveway of the mountain house, slowly creeping up the narrow, cement path to the front of the house. It’s a quaint little house; you can tell it’s nearly 20 years old, but, from what you can see, the owners have repainted the exterior and added quite a few decorations.

As you enter the house, a feeling of comfort washes over you. The interior is also refinished with seemingly brand new furniture, a fresh coat of paint, and minimalistic (but homey) decorations and despite its new smell, it seems like home. 

You scramble into the kitchen after taking a moment to admire the living room, dropping the grocery bags onto the marble countertop that you’d carried inside from the car. Harry is following close behind you with your luggage, carrying both of your bags to the bedroom in the corner of the living room as you stand in the kitchen. 

“How’s the bedroom look?” You call out to him, pulling the refrigerated items from the bags and placing them into the empty fridge. 

“It’s great,” He responds, “There’s a king sized bed and a jacuzzi!” He steps around the corner, entering the kitchen with a smile.

“Sounds great.” You hum, smiling back at him as he approaches you and begins to help unload the rest of the groceries. 

The two of you unload everything within a matter of minutes before wandering out to the balcony. As soon as you step through the sliding glass door, you’re overwhelmed with the breathtaking view of the mountains. They’re so large and tall that their blue tips touch the clouds gently.

“Oh, wow,” You sigh, stepping towards the wooden railing and folding your arms against it.

Harry chuckles in amazement, coming up behind you as you lean against the railing, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing himself against you. You relax into him, allowing your eyes to flutter shut in content. The chill, fall breeze rustles the leaves on the trees that frame the balcony, causing goosebumps to arise along your exposed skin.

The two of you sit there, soaking in one another’s company for what feels like hours before Harry’s thick voice vibrates against you from behind.

“What should we do for dinner tonight?”

Your eyes flicker back open at the sound of his voice,“What do you feel like doing?” 

He sighs, resting his chin on your shoulder. “I’m fine with anything.”

You turn your head to look at him, puckering your lips for a quick kiss that he immediately grants you. He pecks your lips a few more times before finally pulling away and you sigh. “Don’t really feel like making anything tonight,”

He hums, tilting his head to press his hot, plush lips along your neck. “Y’wanna order in?”

Your breathing grows heavier and heavier as your heart rate increases with each press of his lips against your skin. You shake your head, “Don’t think anyone delivers this far out,”

“Mm,” He grunts in response, lips continuing to trail along your jaw. “That’s too bad.”

You turn your body to face him slowly, allowing his arms to rest against the edge of the countertop and cage you in. “M’not really that hungry, anyways.” You breathe, taking his face between both of your hands and messily pressing your lips against his.

His arms snake around your waist, tightening to pull your body into his as close as possible and it feels like you’re finally gasping for air after being held just beneath the surface. Your arms loop around his neck, fingers tangling into his soft curls and tugging gently to coax a low growl from the depths of his throat. His fingers dig into your plush skin from beneath your knitted sweater, grasping every curve and scraping his dull fingernails along your hips. He sinks his teeth into your plump bottom lip, tugging it for a moment as he pulls away and makes eye contact with you again with his forehead resting against yours. 

“God, I’ve missed having you all to myself,” He grunts, pressing you impossibly close to his body. One of your hands drops to his chest, the other arm slung around his neck as the two of you heave from the lack of oxygen. You smirk at him seductively, sliding the hand that’s been resting against his chest down to massage him through his white linen trousers. His cock has already plumped beneath the cloth significantly just from kissing you and a low, boiling groan bubbles up from his throat at the contact. You lean in to kiss his jaw, lips trailing further up towards his ear to nip and suckle at it.

“Want you in my mouth,” You breathe right into his ear and you can feel the shutter that wracks his body as he tightens his grip on you. “Haven’t tasted you in so long…” You trail off, continuing to rub him through his trousers. 

“Y’want me down your throat, hm?” He mutters, pulling away to make eye contact with you again. You bite your lip, gazing at him through hooded eyes with a nod before you slowly sink to your knees in front of him. His hands fall to lean against the railing as he watches you, his breathing heavy and unmeasured with every movement you make.

You begin to unbutton his trousers slowly, pressing your lips against his bulge until you’ve tugged both his trousers and his briefs down his thighs, his thick shaft standing tall in front of you. He hisses at the contact of the chilled breeze on his hot skin and you lean forward, pressing your lips to his tip once, pulling back for a moment and then leaning back in to litter slow, gentle kisses from his head down to his base.

“Fuck me,” He groans, hands grasping the railing until his knuckles are white as you slowly take his head between your plush lips, suckling the warm, pulsing skin. You pop off of him for a moment, spitting on his tip and spreading the slickness down his shaft with your hand, stroking him up and down. You glance up to see him leaning over you with his eyes squeezed shut and his curls flopping gracefully over his face as you stroke him. 

Once he’s slick enough to your liking, you take his head back between your lips, pressing further down his shaft this time and preparing to take him down your throat. Harry is unbelievably hard and he’s finding it difficult not to thrust his hips into your mouth without warning, but he knows it’s been awhile and that you need to take your time. 

Finally, after a bit of stroking him whilst you slowly work him into your mouth, your nose is pressed against his pelvic bone, cock fully sheathed in your throat. He’s choking on a moan, hips thrusting forward at their own accord before you pull your head back and allow him to slide from your mouth for a moment. 

“You alright?” He breathes, dropping a hand from the railing to stroke your hair back. You nod, smiling up at him as you lean forward to take him again without struggling this time.  

Eventually, you’ve set a steady, bobbing pace taking him down your throat over and over again with small, wet gagging sounds that drive him absolutely mad. Your hands are gripping the backs of his thighs as you take him and you can feel the warm dampness building between your kneeling legs that grows with each grunt that leaves his lips. 

It doesn’t take long for Harry to breathe out a struggled warning to let you know he’s close to bursting and that only coaxes you to take him sloppier and faster, despite the tears streaming down your cheeks and spit dripping down your chin. His grunts grow deeper, one hand dropping to rest on the back of your head as you take him. 

Three more sloppy thrusts of his hips and he’s choking out a moan, releasing his thick, hot load right into your mouth. His head falls back on his shoulders and you pull your mouth from him completely, wiping your lips with the sleeve of your sweater before smiling up at him. 

“How was that?”

He chuckles in amazement, pushing his hand through his sweaty curls. “Fuckin’ amazing.”

He helps you up from the ground after you tuck him back into his trousers, immediately wrapping his meaty arms around your waist and pressing you into his body for a kiss. The two of you stay like that for a moment, basking in each other’s embraces before you pull away. 

“Bedroom,” You breathe, pushing him back towards the door. He quickly leads you inside, helping you tug your sweater off and toss it elsewhere as you walk to the bedroom (taking a quick moment to rinse your face and neck). Your back hits the mattress, your hair splayed out beneath you elegantly whilst you help Harry remove your jeans, leaving you in just a pair of panties since you had foregone the bra earlier this morning. His hands are all over you, calloused fingers dancing over every inch of your skin effortlessly. 

You’re reminded of that night, just slightly over a year before; the night your daughter was conceived. It had been gentle and loving, but utterly filthy all the same. He’d laid you out on your bed and taken you in the most passionate way you’d ever experienced. It was the first time the two of you had gone completely bare, hoping to start a family, and you were lucky enough to succeed on the first try, bearing a healthy baby girl just nine months later. Now, as he undresses himself and slots himself between your legs, lips pressed against your own, you feel that same overwhelming passion you’d felt that night. 

You allow him a moment to work himself up again, watching him tug at his cock between your legs with your bottom lip wedged between your teeth. It doesn’t take long for him to be fully hard again and then he’s looking up at you, muttering: “Turn over f’me.”

Smirking, you roll over onto your stomach wagging your ass at him teasingly and coaxing a chuckle from the depths of his throat. He grips your hip with one of his hands, pressing you into the mattress as he tugs your panties off and positions himself against your dripping folds. Your hands grip the crisp, white duvet tightly when he finally pushes into you and bottoms out with a low grunt. 

“Oh, fuck,” You mutter under your breath, dropping your head onto the bed when his hips press against your ass.

“S’that good?” He whispers into your ear, nipping at the lobe gently and you nod, reaching back to thread your fingers between the hair at the nape of his neck. 

He begins thrusting into you at an achingly slow pace, drawing low, breathless moans from your throat as his fingers grip your hips tightly. His agonizing pace is short-lived due to his inability to hold back and soon he’s pounding into you like he has nothing to lose. 

One of his hands moves from your hip, lacing his fingers between yours as he leans over you and gains better leverage, mumbling expletives under his breath at the difference. Your moans are loud and unrelenting with every drill of his hips, the head of his cock slamming directly against your g-spot over and over again. 

“Fuck, Harry- right there,” You whimper, burying your face into the duvet as you push your ass back into him to create more friction. 

He grunts quietly, pressing a large hand onto the small of your back. “S’that it, hm? S’that the spot?” 

You nod weakly through another moan, the sound of his voice sending sparks directly between your legs, which only builds the pooling warmth in your lower belly. His pace is utterly unrelenting and you know you could come undone within moments, but you want to hold off for a little bit longer. 

“Let me on top,” you mutter, turning your head so that he can hear you better. He stops his thrusts as soon as he hears you, smirking and pulling out of you to plop himself onto his back. You shuffle onto your knees, moving to straddle him quickly. His hands immediately fall to your hips as you hover over him, taking his cock into your hand and stroking him before aligning him with your entrance again. Both of you breathe out sighs of relief and pleasure as you bottom out, sitting at his hips for a moment to allow yourself to adjust to the position. 

Soon, you’re lifting your hips to build a steady rhythm against him, gasping his name as your fingernails bury themselves into the skin of his chest. 

“God, you’re so tight like this,” He nearly chokes, hands grasping your hips tightly to pull you down onto him faster. 

The pleasure bubbling in your tummy is building with every slap of skin that can be heard clearly throughout the bedroom and Harry can already feel you start to squeeze and spasm around him, so he drops his hand from your waist to brush his thumb against your clit frantically. Almost immediately after his finger comes in contact with your clit, you begin to climax around him, crying out one last time before collapsing against his body.

He flips the two of you over so your back is against the mattress and continues to fuck into you sloppily, chasing his second climax of the evening as you mutter words of encouragement to him. Then, he’s suddenly bursting inside of you with a sudden, guttural groan of your name laced with a few scattered expletives before he’s relaxing against you and burying his face into the crook of your neck. 

The two of you lie there, catching your breath for what feels like decades, pressing warm lips into sweaty skin, mumbling words of endearment as fingers lace between fingers. There isn’t a moment better than this, wrapped in the warm embrace of your husband, the love of your life, with not a single bit of worry or anxiety. Just you and him.

Eventually, after groans of ‘one more minute’ and ‘just gimme one more kiss’, Harry allows you to pry yourself from his arms and stumble into the bathroom connected to the bedroom so that you can clean yourself up.

*

Nearly an hour later, after a quick shower and change of clothes, the two of you find yourselves in the kitchen preparing a frozen pizza for you to share as Harry’s ‘60s/70s Favorites’ playlist plays quietly in the background.

“Let’s FaceTime Anne,” You suggest, casually tugging his body into yours and wrapping your arms around his waist as you lean against the counter. “I wanna see how bubs is doing.”

He smiles, reaching across the countertop for his phone, swiping and tapping around on it for all of 10 seconds before turning the phone so both of you can see the screen. Within moments, Anne’s face lights up the screen as she smiles and greets the two of you happily. 

“Hi darlings! How’s the mountain house? Did you get there alright?”

You chuckle, leaning your head against Harry’s shoulder, “The house is really nice and the drive was great! How’s Isla doing?”

“Oh, she’s such an angel, hasn’t cried once-” She’s interrupted by the happy babble of your child and you smile. 

“Well, it sounds like she’s having a lot of fun,”

Anne returns to the phone screen that’s propped up on her kitchen counter with Isla in her arms, “Oh, yes! She’s been playing with her toys and crawling around the place like a maniac. Isn’t that right?” She coos, bouncing the small child in her arms.

You glance up at Harry as he chuckles, watching him smile and gaze at her through the screen with sparkling eyes. 

“I guess she’s just been dying to get away from us,” He sighs sarcastically, “She’s been throwin’ fits all week.”

“I guess she just loves Grandma more than us.” You say to him with a feigned sadness and the three of you laugh in unison. 

Eventually, Anne brings the phone in front of Isla so that she can see the two of you and, of course, she’s beyond confused. Grasping clumsily at the phone, accidentally pressing buttons with her clammy little hands, she’s just like her father. 

Suddenly, the oven makes an alarming beep to announce the pizza being done cooking and you step away to pull it from the oven. Focused on not burning yourself, you’re unaware of the little conversation going on between your husband and daughter until you turn around to see him making faces at the phone, little giggles and babbles coming from the speaker. Unbeknownst to him, you’re utterly endeared by him as you watch the interaction, love-filled tears brimming in your eyes. 

It’s perfect. He’s perfect. And you truly believe that in that moment, you’re the luckiest girl alive. 

-

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[allforyoumylovely]

emma, hiii. you're taking requests, like that's the best thing ever hihi. idk why but I've had this image in my head of sander resting against robbe's chest as he robbe reads to him, while he runs a hand through sander's hair. maybe sander is coming out of a bad episode or maybe they're just relaxing on a sunday, but yeah.... maybe something like that hihi. much love to you emma <333

Cille, this was an absolute dream prompt for me, my gosh 💘 📖  I went off on a few tangents but hopefully that’s okay sfhjg. Walk, shower, read. It’s their little routine 🧡  Thank you for sending me this. Love you! Btw let me know if I should upload these on ao3 or if they should just be little tumblr exclusives?

Sander always knows when he’s fading away, when he’s turning into a shell of himself. But he never knows when he’s going to fall asleep at the wheel. Until it’s too late, until he crashes. And that’s when he loses all sense of who he is, of what he enjoys or how he likes to dress or what his voice normally sounds like. Sometimes the only indication of time passing is his alarms that tell him to take his meds and eat at set times.

Although he doesn’t reach the point anymore where he wants to be physically erased – he knows that this seemingly perpetual state of sadness isn’t definitive no matter how much his brain tries to convince him otherwise – some days all he can drag himself out of bed for is a cup of coffee and a cigarette or a few slices of tangerine, the scent reminding him of his boy, his college boy. He’ll crack open a window in the living room and curl up against the cushions in the window-seat, the hood of his black hoodie over his head, and there he’ll try weaving his way through the weeds and the tangled neurons in his thunder-stained mind to anything resembling an actual thought with a pinch of substance.

For the days where he’s more clear-headed his mama puts up little post-its around the house with simple tasks for him to do to help him feel useful and necessary. And in the mornings whenever Robbe has spent the night, Sander finds little notes from him too; there’ll be an I love you on his pillow, an I’m so glad you exist placed on his desk and I’m bringing you flowers later <3 hanging on his door. The first time Sander doesn’t think Robbe actually means the one with the flowers, but when he buzzes him in later that afternoon, the first thing he sees is a bouquet of light pink lilies cradled in his arm against the autumn brown of his jacket, the hues so lovely and gentle, just like Robbe. It’s more than Sander’s frail mind can take, and Robbe wipes away the thin streams of warm tears with his sweater paws, and they laugh softly when it only makes it worse.

Since before Robbe, Sander has been figuring out what soothes him, what makes him feel more at ease, what helps him settle back into his body and bones when coming out of a bad episode, and he has slowly built up a list of things that assist in bringing the puzzle pieces of his mind back into place.

Walks

Sander’s aunt has a golden retriever, Bella, who goes on a little holiday at Sander’s when he’s down and spends most of his days at home. In the mornings she’ll pad over the hard-wood floor to his bed and nuzzle her nose against Sander’s face until he wakes up, waiting patiently for her walk. It’s easier for Sander to get out of bed knowing there’s someone relying on him for their needs and wellbeing. He’ll take her and himself on a walk in the fog-blue mornings when the morning traffic is yet to come, and then again in the early evening when it’s still light out but the streets are quieter, enough for him to give his brain some stimulation when it feels like it has slowed to a halt. The sound of his boots against the sidewalk reminds him that he’s still part of the world, that he hasn’t completely vanished after all.

Sometimes he goes by himself, just listening to and observing the city around him with pale eyes. Other times Robbe goes with him, sleepy-eyed and rosy-cheeked in the mornings, relaxed and loose-limbed at night. He doesn’t curl his hand around Sander’s but lets it hang by his side with their pinkies brushing, open and inviting, for Sander to take if and when he feels like it. Sander will thread their fingers together always, but he loves Robbe for giving him a choice and never forcing anything on him.

Often, they find a bench somewhere, in a park or at the river, a place that isn’t too crowded but still has plenty of things for Sander to rest his eyes on. It’s only the middle of September but some leaves are already falling, lying yellow and limp on the ground, and Robbe notices Sander’s wondering expression.

“It’s probably because the weather has been so dry; they’re shedding their leaves to conserve water and energy,” he says.

And Sander instinctively inches closer, a small smile on his lips. “Clever you.”

Bella sits by Sander’s legs with her head propped on his knee, her deep brown eyes alternatively scanning the place and glancing up at him, sensing his sadness. She’s calm and curious and cuddly, reminding him of a certain someone. When Sander tells him, Robbe breathes out a little giggle, making Sander gaze at him more deeply than he has in days, at the silky curls around his ears and the blinking hoop and the crescent dimples curved into his cheeks, and he’ll quietly rest his head on the slope of Robbe’s shoulder, a few tiny clearings of blue sky starting to appear in his overcast mind.

Showers

Back at home, he and Robbe linger in the hallway for a bit, their hair messy, the scent of fresh air in their clothes. When Robbe says that his green, sparkly eyes are coming back, Sander curls a few fingers in the front of Robbe’s shirt, feeling the firm plane of his stomach against his knuckles as he mumbles, “Shower.”

Some nights Sander can’t stand the mere idea of catching glimpses of himself in the mirror; hates the way he looks with his violet circles and dull, greasy hair. So Robbe will light a couple of candles, and they’ll undress in the dim orange glow and quietly get under the shower spray. And there, with Sander’s forehead resting against his own, Robbe will wash Sander’s hair and tell him that he looks beautiful in this light, while his fingers work in small, bone-melting circles. The near orgasmic pressure on his scalp helps reconnecting Sander’s mind and body, making him press up tightly against Robbe, finally diving back into the swirling, velvety heat that licks into every cell of his being.

“Thank you for… For staying with me,” he says between hushed breaths and light kisses. It falls clumsy from his lips, sounding graver than he intends it to, but Robbe, the angel soul that he is, moulds his answer into five words of pure reassurance that protectively wrap themselves around Sander’s heart.

“I’m going to marry you.”

Sander doesn’t cry. But he’s very damn close.

Reading

This one begins one night maybe a year into their relationship. While Robbe brushes his teeth, Sander wanders Robbe’s room, taking in the familiarity of it, running a hand over the forest green sweatshirt draped over his chair, trailing the edge of his desk with a few fingertips. When he reaches his set of shelves, he sees it wedged in between a plant and some school supplies: a book of bedtime stories filled with beautiful watercolour illustrations, the cover a painting of a dark blue night sky with a full moon reading for her stars over a little sleeping village. The spine is threadbare, seemingly from the countless times of being opened and closed. As he flicks through the crinkled pages, soft lips press against the nape of his neck and the back of his shoulder.

“Are you snooping around my room?” Robbe mumbles.

“Mhm,” Sander hums. “What’s this book?”

Twining his arms around Sander’s stomach from behind Robbe says, “When I was little my mama used to read these stories aloud for me at night. She was looking through some stuff the other day and found it again.” He hooks his chin over Sander’s shoulder. “It’s cute, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Very.” Sander glances back at Robbe with a squeezing feeling in his chest. “Did it make you fall asleep?”

Robbe smiles. “Every time.”

Sander drops his gaze back to the book, asking quietly, “Will you read for me?”

And Robbe brushes a “Sure” and a kiss behind his ear, tugging him along to the bed.

It’s something they do now: Robbe reading aloud for Sander whenever he feels low and doesn’t have many words to offer. Sander then tucks his head under Robbe’s chin, and Robbe tangles his fingers in his freshly washed and citrussy-smelling hair, scraping over his scalp in endless, soothing motions. Safe and sound, Sander listens to stories about naughty star-children, wizards flying about in rolled up rugs, and a Goodnight-ship with live stuffed animals as passengers. They flow over him like dripping streams of honey, Robbe’s voice lovely and wonderful and a little sleepy, and Sander tries so desperately to make his foggy brain hold onto the words.

Sometimes when the night air is cooling Sander’s room and Robbe feels a little cold, he’ll wear a thick hoodie to bed. Sander loves the scent and the comfy feel of the well-worn fabric under his palm, but sometimes he gets a little frowny and frustrated at having to fumble for his small waist; so Robbe pulls it off despite the goosebumps rising on his skin, and Sander presses his ear to his heart and tightens his hold around him, sharing his body heat his only job while he listens to stories from when Robbe was little. And Sander feels little too; but it’s something he allows himself. A few years ago, he didn’t dare dream that he’d ever have this with someone; didn’t think he even had this level of softness in himself.

But here he is. Here they are.

He has never wanted to be someone’s more than he does Robbe’s; it’s so clear that he belongs to him. And it’s crazy, Sander thinks. Because no matter how feeble and numb around the edges his body and mind feel, his love for Robbe is always right there in a molten pond at the core of him, and Sander could cry at the fact that his brain always lets him have that.

In the days following, when he finds that he has enough energy to send Robbe little dorky, flirty texts throughout the day, such as Bella woke me up with wet, sloppy kisses. Wish it was you or when you’re in the mood for a snack but you’re not there💔  with an attached photo of himself pouting at the open fridge, he knows that the darkness in his chest and brain is releasing its hold and taking flight.

[samstree]

Geraskier, 1k, established relationship, soft hurt/comfort, sleep deprivation 

Jaskier gets lost in work and Geralt has to remind him to sleep. Also we should let Geralt sit on Jaskier’s lap 2k21.

*

Geralt wakes to the chirping of birds and a cold bed. Dawn is already breaking. Under the drawn curtain, a shimmer of early morning light creeps into their shared bedroom at Kaer Morhen.

He reaches out only to find tangled sheets and the chilled dampness of winter. No bard.

Jaskier promised to return to their bed after finishing some more composing. It was an inspiring day, he said, three witchers battling in the snow will give him more ballads than a whole year of playing at court.

He did not return to their bed.

With a sigh, Geralt reluctantly dresses himself, picking up a random tunic that Jaskier insisted on purchasing before they made the climb up the Blue Mountain. It is a nice fit, and quite soft, never scratching his sensitive skin like the ones he buys himself. Although telling the bard that might lead to too many of these unnecessary shopping sprees.

Walking through the hall, Geralt reaches the small study at the back of the keep where Jaskier must have spent the night. Even before pushing the door open, he can already hear the frantic scratching of a quill.

Noticing the sound, the bard glances at Geralt by the door before resuming his work at hand. What seems to be a million music sheets and several notebooks are spread out before him on the desk.

“Darling, I’ll be back when this is finished.” He says, not looking up. “Just go to bed first. You need the sleep.”

Worry creeps in. Geralt pads across the room to where Jaskier is hunched over the desk, oblivious to anything other than composing again.

Putting a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder, Geralt frowns at how thin his chemise is. Warmth seeps through the fabric like it’s nothing. “Jaskier, it’s morning already.”

“Oh.” The quill hovers mid-air. He turns to look out the window with confusion. “I didn’t realize.”

“Hmm.” Geralt coaxes him back to the land of the living. “Do you want to leave this for later? Come back to bed.”

Jaskier does not seem to register the question, still clutching a piece of paper full of scribbles and shorthand that the witcher doesn’t understand. Staring vacantly at nowhere, the bard’s mind must have been dragged back to music again.

“Hey, come back to me,” Geralt whispers before pushing away the desk and prying the quill and paper away from the bard’s fingers.

Geralt soon settles onto Jaskier’s lap, straddling him. He then cups Jaskier’s jaw gently to direct his gaze. Finally, the most beautiful, yet tired cornflower blue meets him with full attention.

“Hey there,” Jaskier breathes.

“With me yet?” Geralt tilts his head, glad his bard is not lost in work anymore. He tucks the mussed hair away from the bard’s eyes and rests their foreheads together.

Geralt shifts his weight so it settles evenly on Jaskier’s legs and the chair. He still remembers the first time the bard pulled him onto his lap. Geralt almost struggled out of it, scared that his bulk might crush the feeble human before Jaskier held on tighter and reassured him that his weight is fine, comfortable even.

Jaskier loves the solid weight of his witcher on his lap, a perfect way for them to cuddle.

It’s also the quickest way to get Jaskier’s full attention. Geralt has lost count of how many times he’s done this to force Jaskier to look away from his writing and take breaks. So he can eat and sleep.

They stay there for a long time, until Jaskier melts into the embrace, energy sapping out of him and head lolling. Geralt shakes him awake with concern.

Despite the flowing love Jaskier looks at Geralt with, his eyes are red-rimmed and bleary. There’s a palpitation in his heartbeat that sounds too dangerous. Gods, he must be exhausted.

“Don’t worry, my love,” Jaskier says softly, noticing the frown between Geralt’s eyebrows. “I didn’t notice the time, that’s all.”

“Let’s get you back to bed.” Geralt untangles their limbs and helps Jaskier up too. They walk back to their room, the bard curled next to the witcher’s larger form to ward off the morning chill. Geralt curses under his breath when Jaskier trembles from a sudden draft and wraps around his frame tighter.

Back in the bedroom, Geralt deposits his bard onto the mattress and buries him in layers of blankets, before adding more kindling to the fire.

“Hey,” Jaskier reaches a hand out of the mountain of blankets and guides Geralt back to bed with him. “I’m sorry. I know you don’t like it when I get lost in work. You must have been lonely last night, all by yourself here.”

Geralt busies himself rubbing heat back into Jaskier’s hands and only hums. No, he doesn’t like it. But it’s because he doesn’t ever want to see Jaskier hurt or collapse from exhaustion. They need to have words when the bard wakes up from a nap.

But now he only presses a kiss at Jaskier’s temple. “Sleep now, Jask. I’ll be right here.”

The most beautiful blue eyes flutter shut and he soon drifts off, breathing soft and long. Geralt keeps running his fingers through Jaskier’s soft hair, hoping the cadence will keep him relaxed.

[distinctlywhumpthing]

Together 3: Her name.

Previous — Masterlist — Next

CW: torture, captivity, wounds, broken bones, cauterization mention, strangulation, choking, implied conditioning, implied dehumanization, multiple whumpees, multiple whumpers, whumpee as caretaker, burns, unconscious, blacking out

It’s been hotter than usual for the past few days, even in our damp basement room. The other room is even worse, with dry, unyielding heat, as oppressive as the hands that strangled me until I saw stars over and over a few hours ago. We’ve spent the whole day lying around, rewetting rags from the first aid supplies at the cool tap. It’s been running with less pressure now which is the only reason we’re not just sitting with our feet under it all the time. Neither of us was out of the room for very long today, like all of our captors just want to go off to some pool or find somewhere air-conditioned to drink a cold beer. 

“I’d kill for an Icee right now,” I say, rolling onto my side to see if she knows what I’m talking about. 

She only turns her head, to show me her furrowed brow. I wonder if that means she’s been in this hole long enough she’s never had one or if she’s just from someplace where they have a different name. 

I explain, “It's like a slushy, you know grated ice and syrup. My favorite used to be these white cherry-flavored ones, but they were rare, so every time I saw it in a machine, I’d get the biggest size. It was so good. It would kind of burn in your mouth from whatever was in there, not quite sour but not too sweet either.” 

She raises one eyebrow and grimaces. 

“No, really they were good. I swear, Babe. I’ll—” I stop myself before I offer to buy her one sometime like we’re just new coworkers chatting by the water cooler instead of two people who might never see the light of day again. 

My almost-slip-up wasn’t missed and she rolls onto her back, staring up at the ceiling again. 

I suck at this. 

She’s always falling all over herself trying to help me, give me extra food, and protect me in whatever way she can. It’s not like I can return the favor even when she comes back leaning into the wall for support or looking so dazed I want to rock her in my arms. Even then, she does her best to help me before finally collapsing on her bed or sometimes mine when she knows I can walk to the other. The least I can do is try to distract her but I don’t know the first thing about her. 

One time, I asked if she knew any sign language or had ever played charades. I thought she was going to pass out because she’d frozen and held her breath so long. When she finally let out a breath and opened her eyes, she was blinking past tears. She’d shaken her head once, gaze vacant and dark, jaw still tight. Clearly, she’s not allowed to do anything more than be expressive with her face. Even her nodding has practiced restraint. She never does it more than once. It makes my stomach twist to think of what kind of sicko would reduce another human being to that. My torture makes sense but not hers and I still don’t know what goes on beneath the surface. It makes me wonder if it’s personal. Maybe he has some kind of vendetta. 

We could play twenty questions but I get the sense that might also be crossing the line. I don’t want to risk it. It’s uncomfortable enough without sending her into a panic or whatever it is that happens every time she gets cornered by her conditioning. She’s also still stuck wearing the long-sleeved turtleneck and leggings, while I’m shirtless in ratty shorts, so she must be stifling. They’re clean and soft at least, and I know she gets to shower every day if that’s any kind of comfort. I have no idea, it could be painful in itself for all I know. This is just making me depressed. Her situation is so much worse than mine. I’m sure she’ll be here long after someone messes up and pushes me into a grave sooner than planned. Even if they don’t, I know I have an expiration date, but I get the sense she’s a permanent fixture here. 

I push myself up, catching the lukewarm rag before it falls into my lap. I still have bandages on the cauterized stab wounds but the rest have scabbed over fine. Some of them might not even scar that badly, not that I care. Half my fingers are still taped, which is a pain, but it’s not like I have anything to do anyway. I walk over to stand beside her and hold my hand out for her rag, keeping away until she holds it up so I can grab the opposite hanging end, a good six inches from her fingers. I have enough useable fingers to twist the tap on but I have to wring the fresh water out of the rags between the heels of my hands so they aren’t dripping. I shut off the water and turn around. 

She’s propped herself up on her elbows and quickly looks up at the ceiling, eyes overflowing. I forgot that the burn scar on my back from a while ago sometimes does that to her, even though it’s long-scabbed over by now. I was pretty out of it for a few days after but every time I woke up she was doing that haunting, silent sobbing, like she was feeling every inch of it, too. I hope to god it’s not because she’s covered in similar burns.

I’ve never actually seen it but I can feel that it runs from the top of my left shoulder blade all the way to my right hip and there’s a curve from the hook at some point. When he did it, he wore some kind of fireproof gloves and pressed it into my skin, to get an uninterrupted line the entire length of the poker even with the curves of my spine and my then-present back muscles making it a less-than-flat surface. I’d passed out after a few minutes of screaming and choking on my own spit and snot. I don’t know how long he kept it there after but it took the longest to heal of everything, at least so far. 

I hold the cool rag out to her by one end, letting her grasp it from the other and give her a small smile. She returns it, meekly, and lies back down, eyes following me as I sit on the edge of my bed and stretch my legs out in front of me. 

“Okay, how about I—”

The light goes off. I didn’t realize it was “night” yet… 

She sucks in a breath and I hear her shift on the other side of the room. 

I jump to my feet, feeling the hair on the back of my neck stand up, and blink, trying to adjust to the dark, but I can’t see anything and she’s just shadows wearing all black. I think I see her hovering just beside the door but I can’t be sure and that’s when I notice the red light is also off. 

“Hey—”

Her cool hands grip my wrists and she pulls me down to sit on the floor between the beds. She really is like a cat burglar sneaking around soundlessly. My foot touches her shin so I uncross my legs and put my feet on the ground, pushing myself back until I’m against the metal bed frame. It’s only a few degrees colder than my body in this heat but it still feels nice. I can’t be sure in the dark, but it feels like she’s followed me and closed the distance I just tried to make although, we’re still only touching where she holds onto my wrists. She drops one now and keeps my right hand in both of hers, cradling it palm side up in one hand while the other still grips my wrist. 

“What—”

She lifts my hand with a little tremble to her grasp, brings it up so my middle finger brushes against her chin as she shakes her head. She lowers my hand, still cupped in hers, and presses her finger against my lips for a moment then she taps my ear. 

I nod while she can still feel it. I guess that even if they can’t see us, they can hear us. I trust she knows better than I do since clearly, that would be a keystone to whatever process resulted in this being the closest to a two-sided conversation we’ve ever had. 

She takes a deep breath and brings her shaking finger to my palm. At first, I don’t understand and think maybe she just wants to be near. Then I realize she’s spelling something. I gently shake my hand under her fingertip, like erasing an etch-a-sketch, so she’ll start again. She inhales again, which makes me think she understood. 

The first is E, I think. The next two are the same, following the assumption that the first was oriented to my perspective. One more and it’s unmistakable. I catch her paused, hovering finger in mine, gently, so she can pull away, but she doesn’t. 

E-M-M-A. 

It’s her name. She told me her name. 

I almost speak it out loud before realizing what it would mean if they heard. She effectively broke her silence by doing this and I don’t even know what she is risking or why she decided it was worth it.

I slowly take her whole hand in both of mine, tenderly, like holding a bird. Her breathing hitches up a notch and I can tell she’s already been working to keep it quiet. I bring her hand to my lips. This feels like a long shot and like it might be confusing or dumb, but I have to try. I know she’s likely not a lip reader but maybe for someone locked in silence, it will mean something. 

Emma, I mouth, Emma, Emma, Emma. 

Her hand is trembling by the time she slips it out of mine. She’s intermittently, unsteadily holding her breath.  

By now, I can see her silhouette in the dark and she is as close as possible without touching me. She—Emma—is sitting, curled up tight with her chin on her knees, arms wrapped around her legs in between my legs. My knees must be level with her shoulders and I can smell the scent of soap on her. I reach out slowly and her eyes flash to the side as they register my hand but she doesn’t move. I softly touch the pad of my thumb to her cheekbone, just under the outside of her right eye, and find it damp. I don’t dare lay the rest of my hand on her face but I can feel the air warming between our skin, growing heavy, until it develops its own polarity.

I don’t know how long we stay like that before footsteps in the hall separate us. She takes my hand in both of hers and squeezes my palm before going to stand by the door where a lackey appears with a flashlight and she goes quietly. They don’t come back for me and I eventually fall asleep. When I wake up, the red light is back but Emma is not. 

Previous — Masterlist — Next

[lovehugsandcandy]

just close enough (Logan x MC, RoD)

A/N: I am sorry, I have been very out of touch. I apologize for not responding to tags and chats. Things haven’t been great and I am surprised that I have anything for rodaw. Please keep tagging me on your stuff!

Pairing: Logan x MC, ROD

Length: ~1700 words

Rating/Warnings: N*FW (sorry, in rereading this, yeah, you probably shouldn’t read this at work)

Summary: Distance can be measured in miles and inches, and none of it is too far for Logan to travel.

.

He’s almost asleep, sliding into the hazy space between full alertness (how he spends every waking moment) and complete unconsciousness (where any dream he regretfully remembers is from a past best totally forgotten). The couch cushions are rough along his spine, spring digging into a shoulder blade, but he’s slept in worse places. He’s almost blessedly asleep, darkness warm and welcoming and-

“Logan?”

His eyes fly open and he jolts up, instantly awake. The room is in shadows, light of the moon filtering through the LA smog, bathing his surroundings in a sleepy glow. He turns his head; other than the call of his name, the loft is quiet, still. With a lifetime spent attuned for threats, he can sense that the calm in the air signals safety.

“Logan?” she slurs again, voice tinged with sleep.

“Yeah?”

“Come here.”

He blinks, squinting over at the lump under his sheets. “What?”

“You’re too far away. Come here.”

God, he wants that, more than anything. In the daylight, when the corners of the shop gleam sharp and lethal, he knows it is too dangerous to get close. That distance is the one thing that will save her from mistakes he has spent a lifetime making and atoning for. But here, in the stillness of night, when the scratching fabric chafes his back and the siren in his bed calls, he feels his resolve weaken, scattering in shards to the floorboards to join the dust and grime underneath.

He pads over, the rhythm of his footsteps matching the soft sigh of her breath, and cautiously perches on the mattress, giving her a beat to reconsider before he swings his legs over and slides under the covers. She is soft and warm, coconut and sunshine next to his grease and oil, and she rolls over to edge soft on his side.

“Close enough?” he asks into the curls pillowing over his shoulder.

“Mmh… almost.” 

He chuckles as he catalogues the space between them, an inch where her waist curves concave from his, a rumpled barrier of fabric where her feet are entangled. They could barely be closer, but somehow, he still agrees with Ellie. 

The smile is still on his face as he drifts off into a contented sleep.

~~~~~

He’s not used to being in the passenger seat. 

The view is different here, shifted, the rows of parked cars tilted and angled askew, but he sat relaxed, legs splayed and hair catching the wind the entire way. It’s a testament to her driving; she’s brilliant behind the wheel, beaming with every acceleration, leaning into every curve, and he can tell - she finds the call of the road freeing, just like he does. She’s come a long way from the shy bookworm whose path he stepped in front of. It’s barely been a few weeks, but it feels like forever.

He wishes it could go on forever.

He inhales harshly through his nose, recalling the day they met, the hushed conversations that preceded it. She deserves to know the truth and here, parked in this lot waiting on a disconcertingly mysterious job, seems like the perfect place to tell her.

But before he can find the words, she turns, fixing him with a devious smirk.

“Come here.” Her finger beckons and, just past it, a devious smirk glows in the multicolor shades alight from the dash. 

“What do you…”

“Come here. You’re too far away.”

He leans forward, and the center console digs into his ribs. It doesn’t matter, not when she tugs on a strand of hair to pull him closer, so close he can map the lines of her smile with an intensity usually saved for fuel intake lines and racetracks. “Better?”

“Nope.”

He inches forward. “How about now?”

“Nope.” Her voice is teasing, soft, a whisper of air against his lips, the tingling of excitement before the fall.

He’s completely in her space, so close he can’t see beyond the dark of her eyes, the apples of her cheeks. There is no world beyond the girl in the driver’s seat. “Now?”

“... almost.” She breathes the response into his mouth as their lips finally meet; he realizes with a start that he will never be closer to anyone, here in this stadium parking lot, with his hands tangled in her hair and poisonous secrets in his heart.

Even when they are close as can be, he still feels the distance.

~~~~~

Logan’s just catching his breath, skating a shaking palm over her side. “Are you ready?” The words make him pause.

“No.” He blinks at her as she rests against the pillow in Vaughn’s spare bedroom, hair spilling down against the pillow; the strands curl around his finger as he absentmindedly runs his fingers in a tense pattern. He could never be ready for this, to see the one person he ever trusted, the one person he ever loved, race for their freedom on a pitch-black highway.

“We don’t really have a choice.”

“I know.” 

“Logan, we need to do this.” She props herself up on her elbow, and his heart falls.

“I know. I just… I hate the thought of not being with you, not being able to protect you.” 

She blinks down at him, and his fingers reach up to tangle in one graceful coil of hair strands soft on the pads on his fingers. “You know I can drive.”

“Of course, Troublemaker, I’ve seen you drive. I just… I don’t want you to be in danger. I hate that you’re going to be out there where I can’t help you.”

“I’ll be too far away?”

“Yeah.” For as close at they are now, where he can catalogue the distance between them (millimeters between his shoulder and hers, three inches between their lips, and no distance at all where his cock is just stirring, again, into the soft skin of her stomach), he knows that the waiting, the space on the highway --- it will wreck him.

She smiles, faintly, distantly, her eyes echoing his own pain. “I’m here right now.”

“You are.” He spins, hand on her hip pushing until he is over her, legs intertwined, fingertips around her waist, every inch of them aligned and in sync. “And I’m going to make the most of it.”

~~~~~

You’re too far away.

The words are high in the wind and he whips his head around frantically, as memories collide with the storm brewing outside. The first flake is a shock, pelting his forehead in an icy portent and, mere seconds later, the grey clouds above part in a mass of ice and slush.

It never snowed in LA.

Logan cranes his neck up to feel the full brunt of the storm hammer his face, each frosty blast a jolting reminder of how far he traveled from the last few months, the distance between him and his old stomping ground washed away as the frozen water melts over his face, droplets pouring down his brow and drenching his hair.

His face is frozen when he steps back into the shop, some run-down shithole he found in inner-city Detroit. Here, locals don’t ask questions, and there are no reminders of the mentor who was almost like a father and the girl who was almost like forever.

This time, they are miles and days and utter lives apart, and he worries that nothing on the earth will bring them together again.

~~~~~

The years flow like molasses. Fall edges into winter, which thaws into spring and heats into summer, and then it starts all over again, punishing, never ending.

The cities stack up almost as easily. After Detroit, it’s Miami, then Houston, a long stretch in Nashville before Milwaukee calls and then, finally, to the East Coast. He stops for a spell in DC, walking through shaded paths as the cherry blossoms sway above him. The pink defies imagination. He’s used to vehicle-grade candy paint, each car brighter and more audacious than the last, a parade of vibrant neons and sultry veneers that spin rainbows around tracks. 

This pink is soft, petals even softer against his fingertips, and Logan feels an irrational stab of guilt for the calluses that dare grace the blossoms swaying in the wind. His dark past makes him unworthy to touch such beauty and, as he watches the petals flutter to the ground, he thinks of another beauty that slipped through his fingers.

He stays for a few months, enough to learn the grid of southeast DC and the bisecting avenues, but then spring tiptoes into summer. He’s used to the sun but the goddamn humidity makes his hair pouf into patterns he knows gentle fingers would soothe, so he heads north.

It’s a quick drive, the four lanes of 95 providing ample room to swerve and fly; he imagines another car with another driver speeding down these roads.

Finally, the wheels lead him to New York, where he trembles on a doorstep under flickering lights in this apartment building, fighting up five floors where every step made him want to vomit.

He breathes through his nose. He didn’t come all this way (trans versing the United States, multiple times, him and the Devore burning miles and gas but subsisting on memories and love) for nothing. His fingers shake and he rings the doorbell.

When it opens, she looks just as she does in his memory, eyes warm and bright, smile breaking out over the apples of her cheeks. His heart leaps.

“Logan?”

“Hi,” he breathes. He had been unsure of his reception but now, with her blinking up serenely at him, the years fade away and he’s brought back to the moment in front of her fathers house, watching the tears pool in her eyes and wishing futility on every star that life could be different.

They move at the same time; she jumps forward, and he pulls her in and their lips meet as if no time had passed, as if they had never been apart, as if distance were meaningless in the troublemaker's face who stole his heart.

 “Close enough now?” He beams at her, smile so wide it hurts, cheeks pinching unfamiliarly, and he never wants to leave her side.

Her answering smile shines brighter than any shooting star he’s seen, and he knows he is right where he needs to be. “Finally.”

.

Tags:

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@leelee10898, @client-327, @brightpinkpeppercorn, @choicesarehard, @burnsoslow, @zaffrenotes, @kat-tia801, @desiree-pow-35-1986, @ritachacha

ROD

@omgjasminesimone, @mskaneko, @alyssalauren

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

One Night🌙8

Warnings: noncon sexual acts (fingering)

This is dark!Andy Barber and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: One night changes your entire life.

for @kittykatlow​‘s 200 Follower Celebration

Note: Alright, We’ve got more Andy! And hopefully i can get some more writing done.

Hope you enjoy it. Thank you. Love you guys!

Please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

You stepped into the cafe, the familiar smell of espresso and chai filled your nostrils. Andy caught the door behind you and let the bells jingle as it closed. You glanced back at him and he smiled. You shook your head and he sat at the round table for two that peered out the marquee window. You sighed and continued across the coffee shop.

You lifted the door as you slipped behind the counter, Taylor gave you a dark look as you headed for the back room. Your manager, Rachel was placing pans onto racks as the ovens glowed warmly behind her. She stopped as she took a breath and flinched in surprise.

“Hey,” She closed the oven and fixed her hairnet. “It’s your day off.”

“Yeah,” You said glumly. “Um, I know you’re busy but… I figured it was better to come in than do this over the phone.”

“Do what?” She blinked.

“Um, well, I spent Friday night at the hospital. I’m well but the doctor has recommended that I avoid stress, namely he advised that I take a leave of absence from this job until I am… better.” You hesitated. “But I don’t want to put you in a worse spot than I already am. I can finish out the rest of the schedule but I wouldn’t be able to do any lifting and… I am quitting. Seeing as I’m not even done probation, I figured it’s easiest for both of us.”

“Oh,” She sniffed. “Are you… alright?”

“Yeah, it’s… a long story,” You said. “So, I can still come in. Work cash. Until the next pay cycle. If that’s okay with you?”

“Of course, yeah,” She looked disappointed. “Sad to see you go, either way. Thanks at least, for the consideration.”

“I’m real sorry.”

“Ah, don’t be,” She grinned. “Most of the employees are students. Half the time, the schedule means nothing.”

“Alright, well, thanks,” You backed up towards the door. “I’ll see you… tomorrow.”

“Yep,” She turned and rolled the rack back. “If Taylor’s not busy, can you get her to come get the muffins on your way out?”

“Sure,” You nodded and left her to her work. 

Taylor was with a customer and you figured even if you told her, she wouldn’t listen anyway. You stepped out from behind the counter and Andy stood as you neared.

“Coffee smells good. Want a decaf?”

“No,” You ignored him for the door and he hurried to follow after you.

“So, you quit?” He asked as he caught up.

“Yeah, end of the week and I’m done,” You muttered. “Happy?”

“No, not really,” His hand went to the small of your back as you neared the car. “I will be when you’re home, healthy, relaxing.”

“Andy…” You stopped suddenly as he reached for the car door. He looked at you, his blue eyes stormy. You forced down what you wanted to say and shrugged. “I’m tired.”

You turned and he opened the door. You slumped into the seat and buckled your belt. He shut the door softly and rounded the front of the car. You peered out at the side mirror and stared at the cafe sign. What was one more loss?

🌙

Back at the house, you retreated to the guest room. The door was broken and so you propped it shut with the tote you’d packed on that chaotic night. You read for a while but couldn’t focus. You gave up and sighed as you neared the door.

Andy was gone. He had work and you were grateful at least for the respite. You went downstairs and on the large flat screen across from the couch. It had rarely been used since your arrival. Andy always seemed to be poring over files or some magazine, if not fretting over every single move you made.

You found Netflix among the apps and it was already signed into Andy’s account. You didn’t take him for the type but you supposed everyone needed a bit of mindless bingeing. His feed was filled with documentaries and gritty dramas. You spread out across the couch as you turned on an all sitcom and set the remote on the side table.

Your back had been achy all day and you felt terribly bloated. Maybe that wasn’t bloating. You propped your head up on a cushion and looked down at your stomach. You were starting to show. You were starting to feel it. Your breasts were tender, a little bit bigger even. You turned on your side and tried not to think of how helpless you felt.

You stared at the screen and barely paid attention to the twenty-minute plots. You’d seen it all before. You yawned and tucked your hand under the cushion as you bent your legs and sank into the couch further. It wasn’t long before you were asleep, lost in the chaos of your worries, waking and otherwise.

You woke up to your name, called softly from above you. You turned onto your back and opened your eyes lazily. Andy leaned on the back of the couch as he watched you. You blinked and looked at the dulled screen of the television; ‘Are you still watching?’ You glanced back at him as he said your name again.

“You okay?” He asked and you slowly sat up. He pushed himself away from the couch and came around, placing his briefcase in the arm chair.

“Yeah, I must’ve dozed off,” You grabbed the remote and turned off the television. “I’ll go upstairs and--”

“Stay.” He grabbed your shoulder and kept you from standing as you dropped your legs over the edge of the couch. “I’m going to make dinner. I just wanted to know what you wanted.”

You squinted at him and sat back with a shrug. You didn’t have the energy to argue with him. “Up to you.”

“You sure you’re alright?” He asked.

“You sure you are?” You countered.

He clicked his tongue and exhaled loudly. “Yeah. You know, I can be an asshole but I’m not inherently one.”

“Sure.” You flicked the tv back on. “You don’t have to make dinner--”

“I want to.” He said. “You need to relax. That’s your job. Mine is to make sure you do just that.”

He sat beside you as you pressed play and put the remote down. You avoided looking at him as you leaned forward anxiously.

“How are you feeling?” He shifted closer. “In the book, it said you might be having back pain; hip pain? How’s your nausea?”

You grimaced at him and shook your head. “You don’t need to worry that much, Andy. Really. I feel fine.”

“You were in the hospital only days ago. I need to worry,” He reached over and touched the small of your back. “You need to let me worry. Let me help.”

He curled his fingers under the bottom of your tee shirt and caressed your skin. You tried to shimmy away and he caught your hip.

“Come on. Just a back rub.” He urged. “It’ll help with the tension and the pain.”

“I’m fine.” You insisted as you crossed your arm.

“You gotta start working with me,” He huffed. “I’m just doing what the doctor told me to.”

“I’ll just get a heating pad.” You edged forward on the couch, ready to retreat to the guest room.

“No,” He caught your elbow as you tried to stand. “Here,” He slid back on the couch and spread his legs. “Sit. Humour me.”

You bit your tongue and shook his hand away from your arm. You stood and inched in front of him. You sat tentatively on the edge of the couch and he grabbed your waist as he pulled you closer. You went rigid and he squeezed just slightly.

“Give a little,” He muttered. You hung your head as his hands glided up the back of your arms and settled on your shoulders. “Let me know if I’m too rough… I haven’t done this in a while.”

He began to knead, gently. He ran his thumb up your neck and sent a shiver along your spine. It felt good despite your reluctance. You let out a quiet moan. You clamped your lips shut and his hands pressed more firmly. You gripped your knees as you eased into his touch. 

He got further down and you found it harder not to make noise. He continued to massage you as you leaned back without thinking. You hummed and your hand went to his knee. He lifted the hem of your shirt and began to knead your flesh, his fingertips pushing into your hips.

“See, not that bad,” He said as his hot breath tickled your scalp.

“No…” You let out a crackly whisper.

His right hand slid around your front and spread over your stomach. His other trailed up your back and he traced the line of your shoulder blade with his thumb.

“Andy,” You touched his hand as he held your stomach.

He was quiet for a moment and he hugged you to him as he snaked his other arm around you and felt your small bump with both hands.

“You’re starting to show,” He purred. 

“I’m bloated,” You wriggled against him as heat pricked at your skin.

“Mmm,” He nuzzled your hair and slowly bent over you. “Mine. My baby.”

“Andy,” You grasped his wrist. “Let me go.”

He didn’t as he buried his head in your neck and his lips grazed your skin. You trembled as he dragged his fingertips along the top of your pants and he picked at the elastic waist of your weathered sweats. His other hand stayed on your stomach as he kissed your neck.

“Stop.” You caught his hand and he brushed you away, slipping beneath the elastic of your pants and past your panties. “Andy--”

His other hand left your bump and he let your shirt fall. He covered your mouth as he pulled you closer. He smothered you with his palm and your eyes rounded as he spread your cunt with two fingers and flicked his middle finger over your clit. You whimpered into his hand as he did it again, sending sparks along your thighs.

“Relax,” He growled. “Just… relax.”

He rubbed you firmly with his finger and you grabbed his knees as a tide rolled over you. His finger glided down your folds, already wet, and he poked inside of you as the heel of his hand pressed against your bud. His cologne sank into your nostrils as you breathed heavily into his hands. 

You arched your back as he pushed another finger into you and curled them. His teeth nipped at your neck and you shook as the pressure built at the crux of his touch. He moved his fingers in and out of you, dragging them against your wall and adding to the whirlwind.

He rocked his whole hand as he squeezed and pressed down on that sacred spot inside. You gulped and pushed your head back against his shoulder. His palm slid from your lips and he hooked his fingers in the collar of your shirt.  

Your thighs clenched his hand as you spasmed and writhed hungrily in his embrace. Your eyes rolled back and closed. Your dusky moans floated in the air and peaked in a squeal as you came. He slowed as you succumbed to your orgasm.

He sat back with you against him. He drew his fingers out of you and rested his hand over your vee, a cloud of warmth trapped beneath it. You gulped and your head lolled along his shoulder.

He shifted behind you and you felt his bulge against you. He let out a groan and inhaled deeply.

“Are you relaxed now?” He leaned his head against yours. 

Your lashes fluttered as your mind cleared. You shakily reached down and tore his hand from your sweats. You stood, dizzily, and turned on him. You adjusted the elastic waist of your pants and stumbled backwards as he sat forward. He brought his fingers to his lips and licked them with a purr.

“Why the fuck did you do that?” You hissed.

“You liked it.” He said bluntly.

“That… doesn’t matter. I told you--” You stepped back as he stood. “Andy.”

“Don’t work yourself up.” He lunged at you and grabbed your arm. “I’m only doing what the doctor recommended.”

“Get off of me.” You tried to rip your arm away as he angled you back to the couch.

“Lay down,” He gritted through his teeth. “Now.”

“Andy!”

He slapped your ass and shoved you against the sofa. You fell onto the cushions on your knees and turned to look back at him. He crossed his arms and tilted his head.

“I want you to sit down and watch some tv as I go cook our dinner.” He said firmly. “And then we will sit together, nicely, and eat.” He raised his eyebrows dangerously. “Like a good mommy and daddy.”

You winced and gaped at him. You nodded slowly and he dropped his hands as he shook his head. He backed away and shrugged out of his stiff jacket and slung it over his bag on the chair. He spun back to you as he loosened his tie.

“Grilled chicken?” He asked. Your eyes followed his left hand as he quickly stuffed it in his pocket. “Sound okay?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” You answered numbly, not entirely sure of what he’d asked you. 

He nodded and left you. You listened to his leather shoes as they met the tile of the kitchen floor and cupboards opened and shut noisily. You ran your fingers along your cheek and leaned your head back to stare at the ceiling.

Andy wasn’t wearing his ring. For the first time since you’d met him. When you met him at the bar, you’d been too drunk to notice but he’d never been without it. When he was thinking, he often turned it on his finger with his thumb. But it was gone and that felt… wrong.

[its-a-humanriot]

Common Language, pt. II

Charon realises very quickly that he doesn’t understand his new employer very well.

In the first instance, this is very literal.

(pt. I) / (pt. II)

---

The two of them head out scavenging initially, hoping to replenish some of his employer’s lost caps. Their interactions remain stilted. She is clearly unused to having a travelling companion - much less one who she has command over - and is clearly avoiding using that ability as much as she can, wincing if she forgets to word her sentences carefully. Somehow, this only serves to make Charon more uneasy – at least with direct orders he knows what to expect from it. The rapid derailing of their first interaction means that he doesn’t even really know why she had spent all those caps on his contract in the first place.

His confusion at her only increases as they spend more time together over the course of the day. She has taken to speaking the same way she did after his outburst, slightly slower and obviously selecting her words more carefully. His initial reaction is resentment - that he is being patronised or pandered to somehow, that since he lost his composure she is walking on eggshells trying to preserve his feelings. The fact she saw him in such a state at all makes him uncomfortable beyond measure, never mind the fact that it happened less than an hour after their first proper meeting.

However, this conclusion is rapidly cast aside when (on many occasions) she slips up - she rapidly becomes less comprehensible as she falls into her natural speech patterns. On seeing his blank expression, she has to backtrack and rephrase or repeat herself more slowly, usually accompanied with a deep sigh and a furrowed brow followed by an apology. Her frustration only ever appeared to be directed towards herself, along with a kind of embarrassment at her difficulty in expressing herself. A couple hours after setting out she makes a comment about needing to ‘hit the jacks’ as they head into a house to loot. When she turns to see him looking back at her with confusion, instead of re-wording her sentence she just averts her eyes, clears her throat, and mutters “be right back” before darting up the stairs and into one of the rooms. He almost starts up the stairs after her until he hears the sound of water on porcelain and the situation becomes painfully clear, and he does a rapid about-turn to start his search for valuables on the far side of the ground floor.

It also does not take long for Charon to notice his new employer’s hoarding tendencies. This in itself is not unusual. Most wastelanders kept an eye out of any scrap of resources they could lay their hands on - you tended to live longer that way. Otherwise, useful odds and ends picked up could be sold on for caps, and some of the more daring wasteland folk earned a living by sneaking under the noses of super mutants and feral ghouls to obtain more valuable items. Charon considers this as the young woman pokes at the swaying figurine of a woman in a grass skirt on a wrecked bus dashboard, smiling to herself as it appears to dance, and tucks it into a side pouch of her pack.

No, the strangeness is not that she hoards or even how much, but what she takes. She clearly has at least some capability of evaluating what goods are worth taking – prioritising high-value low-weight items, only going for the heavier pieces when they are really worth it (and after he has insisted that yes, he can carry a few more fission batteries despite her reluctance to use him as a pack brahmin) But for every carton of cigarettes or sensor module she picks up she scoops a handful of screws into a pocket and thread nuts onto a string like jewellery to carry with her. A few carefully selected tin cans that aren’t too bent are filled with old buttons and beads, padded out with scraps of printed pre-war fabric to stop the clattering noise from drawing too much unwanted attention. Even once today her own spent bullet casings got swept up off the floor, bundled into a rag and tied into a neat little parcel before tucking it away.

 “Charon, what chow do you want?”

He pauses in counting his ammunition in the spot by the fireplace. The house they have selected for their camp tonight still has an intact chimney. As long as they keep the fire small it shouldn’t draw too much attention, and they get the luxury of cooking their food indoors while getting to stay warm through the night. When he looks up towards the young woman, she is waving food containers at him. With a small amount of effort, his expression remains blank.

“I will eat whatever is available.” Previous employers have never paused to ask such trivial questions of him. His impartial answer earns a little furrow in his employer’s brow, but her disposition is otherwise cheerful.

“Well, there’s both o’ these, plus all the other stuff we salvaged today. What would you prefer?”

“I have no preference.”

She looks oddly disappointed, like she wasn’t just asking about food options, but doesn’t press him further. Charon looks between the containers in her hands – a box of Blanco mac and cheese, a tin of Cram, and what looks like a few squirrel-on-a-stick skewers wrapped in pieces of old newspaper. He thinks about how long it has been since he had fresh, hot food and not whatever scraps Ahzrukhal let him scrape off a plate or whatever leftovers Carol would smuggle to him. He looks back down at his pile of bullets and keeps counting.

“I have no preference. You should eat the squirrel before it goes bad.” Charon says placatingly. He hears a small, terse sigh from his employer’s direction, and then she sits down by the fire. But when he looks at her out of the corner of his eye (and he is so used to watching his employers, constantly gauging moods like he’s listening to a ticking Geiger counter) she just unwraps the squirrel kebabs and props them in front of the grate of the fireplace to heat up, then unboxes the mac and cheese and places the foil tray directly on the smouldering coals.

“Then we’ll share.” This time she catches him looking at her, and returns the look with a small smile before she turns away to start cleaning her rifle. If she notices that he is still looking at her after that, she doesn’t let on.

If he has to turn the kebabs a few times to stop them getting too crispy while she is distracted, it’s of no consequence. He doesn’t quite save the mac and cheese, which gets a little blackened around the edges before he snatches it off the fire, scorching his fingertips. Divided between the two of them in front of the fire over a slightly awkward silence, it is still the best meal he has had in a long time.

 His employer insists on taking first watch despite his protestations, saying that she has something to work on while the fire is still alight, and he grumbles to himself as he begrudgingly lays down to rest. The combined powers of his training and the soothing noises of ammunition being counted lulls him to sleep quickly.

His sleep is not peaceful – his episode from earlier that day bleeds into his dreams and he wakes up flat on his back and tense as a compressed spring and lost in time, eyes wide open and watching and listening and waiting for the scientists to release him from the sim pod, for Ahzrukhal to curse him out of bed, for a mother whose face he can no longer recall, for someone –

 No one comes. The strange swimming lights and shadows slowly resolve into the peeling patches on the dilapidated ceiling in the dregs of the firelight and a dim glow of electric light. The only noises are a rustle of paper, faint clinks of metal on metal, a sigh and the mumbling of a woman’s voice. His new employer, the kid – what was her name? He forces his shaking hands into fists, and sits up.

 His employer – Billie, he remembers now - is sitting by the fireplace as she was when he went to sleep, but with a hooded homemade lantern sat on top of some kind of scheme that she is pouring over as she tinkers with what appears to be something like a crossbow. Muttering words under her breath with enough vehemence that they can only be cursing, she measures the flight groove against a syringe then a dart, before dropping both in annoyance and scrubbing her fingers through her mass of dark curly hair. At this point she finally seems to notice him, and the pursed look of frustrated concentration on her face drops.

“Agh – sorry. Did I wake you?” Her recently mussed curls only served to make her look even more startled. Charon finds his jaw still clenched after his nightmare, and it takes a moment to loosen it enough to speak.

“No.” At least she doesn’t seem to have noticed anything strange about while he was sleeping. “You should rest. I will keep watch.” She frowns, and checks her Pip-Boy.

“But it’s only been a few hours-”

“I require less rest than most. I will keep watch the rest of the night.”

She looks unconvinced, but packs away her schemes and lantern without further protest and curls up on the mattress, and it is not long before her breaths lengthen as she drifts into sleep.

 The next few hours pass without incident – Charon finishes re-counting his ammunition and counts their supplies to keep his hands and his mind busy – bottles of water, packaged food, stimpaks. They are well enough provisioned for now, and should be well able to make it to Rivet City as his employer had indicated without running short as long as they don’t run into too much trouble. They had chosen a house for tonight as far as they could manage from a supermutant camp, and the nearest passing footsteps don’t seem to come closer than the end of the street. He sits in the dim light of the fire’s embers, and waits.

The young woman mutters in her sleep, curling in on herself. Though it is obscured by her speech patterns and the nonsense of sleep-talk, some of it sounds like names. All of it sounds distressed. He pauses, waiting to see if she will wake while he traces one, two holes in the bottom of his boot, but eventually she settles, nuzzling her head down under the edge of the one thin blanket she had pulled down from the upstairs bedroom. He has not counted another among their packs – once they get to Rivet City he may need to suggest that they acquire the essentials of a proper bedroll. It will be much easier for them to stay alive out in the open wasteland without the risk of hypothermia, especially if they don’t get the luxury of having an intact roof and walls around them.

Sometime after her breaths even out again in slumber, Charon finally runs out of things to keep his hands busy. The last of the embers in the grate have died, and daybreak is still an hour or so away. He hesitates, then lays down on the bare floor an arm’s length or so from the mattress and he counts his breaths, his heartbeats as he watches the pale morning light reveal the patterns of the tattered ceiling.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Christmas Specials: Silver

CW: Chronic pain, references to attempted murder and past torture

The lights dance over Mina’s hair, edging black with red, yellow, green, and blue as she moves on little legs to touch the wrapped boxes piled underneath the tree. 

Danny sits on the couch with Toto curled into a ball next to him, watching Nate and four-year-old Mina get everything ready for Santa’s arrival. 

His back is a constant low throbbing ache, with occasional sharp spikes, but he’d been determined to make it downstairs to see this. He’d spent the whole day in bed, timing his pain meds just right to ensure they’d be at full strength after dinner. 

Abraham doesn’t get to take Christmas away from him any longer, even just in his body refusing to forget the blade that had been buried in his back.

Making it to the couch still counts.

Mina has an expression of pure and earnest seriousness on her round face as she carefully places a cookie on the special Santa plate that Danny had braved the crush and the stares at the store to buy. Next to the cookie - which Mina had informed them could be anything BUT oatmeal raisin - there were five small squares of cheese, a smattering of crackers, and a few slices of cured meat.

“Santa’s ch-ch-cheese plate is done,” Nate says, looking up, his eyes warm when they meet Danny’s. Danny gives him a smile in return, shifting with his discomfort but refusing to let it show on his face. 

He has so much experience, after all, in forcing himself to power through pain.

“Great. What comes next, Mina-bean?”

“Santa needs a drink!” Mina says cheerfully and claps her hands.

“Don’t we all,” Danny murmurs, and finds it in him to laugh when Nate shoots him a look. “Oh, what. She already learned to swear from me, might as well teach her this, too, right?” His back twinges, which is a fun way to describe the spike of sudden sharp agony that shoots up his back and he stiffens, closing his eyes. 

Toto seems to sense the way he tenses and the little dog raises his head, watching Danny with large soulful eyes. 

Ride it out, ride it out, ride it out, you can do this, just a second, just-

“D-Danny?” Nate is back to him without more than a breath of time passing, and Danny opens his eyes to look into the deep mossy green of Nate’s. “Are you okay? N-need to go back upstairs?”

“Oh… I th-think I’m sleeping down here t-t-tonight, thanks,” Danny hisses, but he lets Nate push Toto off the couch and slowly lay Danny down, and once his stomach is flat against the cushions, the pain starts to fade back into the low-level throb that he’s learned to push past, to live with. “M-might have to take… pull out the big guns later on, Nate.”

“That’s okay. You c-c-can have another dose in a few hours, we’ll switch paink-killers then.”

“Oh, no,” Mina says, looking at them with wide brown eyes utterly heartbroken. “Daddy, no.”

“What’s-... what’s wrong, Mina?” Danny’s voice is airier than he wants it to be, but his back is starting to settle again, muscles gradually relaxing as the nerve pain fades. He turns to look at her as Nate carefully drapes a blanket over him, then moves back to the kitchen. A cabinet door opens and closes. The microwave kicks on. Guilt is ever-present, that his pain will ruin the moment for his daughter, that he won’t be able to be enough when it counts.

Her eyes are wide as saucers. “Will you sleep through Santa presents?” 

Danny isn’t sure at first how to answer. It hurts, it always hurts, to know that his daughter is already used to what Abraham’s final gift has taken from him, that she has adapted so well to Danny’s limitations that they are the framework of her world. And yet he’s so proud of her, at the same time, for her compassion, for her small serious expression, for the fact that she worries he’ll take the meds and sleep through Christmas.

He won’t.

He won’t.

He swore to himself Abraham couldn’t steal any more Christmases, that he couldn’t twist them any longer into terror after he was dead. He promised himself, that first Christmas back home watching Nate decorate a fake tree they got at the store, that he would get to decide, from here on out, what Christmas looked like.

The lights dance over Mina’s eyes and hair and skin, and Danny smiles a little, thinking of a blurred sense of lights, of Nate’s hands over his body. The weight of eyes that he had thrown off, however briefly, to hold Nate as close as he could get without the other man sliding under his skin. 

Nate won’t talk about that night, but Danny thinks about it, sometimes, about how happy he’d been, for just a while, with someone he actually - already - wanted.

“I won’t, sweetie, I promise.” Danny forces his voice to be firm, and strong. Nate returns and lays the heating pad, freshly hot from the microwave, over the blanket. Heat spreads, and tensed muscles around damaged nerves relax even more. The hurt fades, never gone but barely noticeable, no longer enough to stop him.

He closes his eyes, relishing the simple joy of feeling only a minimum amount of pain. “I won’t sleep through Christmas,” He murmurs, “Because your Dad will wake me right up. Right, Dad?”

Toto hops back up and curls right back into his ball, settling into a hollow in the blanket between Danny’s knees.

Nate’s hand runs through his hair, briefly over one shoulder, and Danny opens his eyes again to watch Nate move back over and set the small red-and-clear-glass tumblr on the tray next to the cookie and cheese plate. Danny knows the drink because he was the one to insist on it when they did their first Christmas with baby Mina - rum, spicy ginger beer, squeeze of lime, a cherry to soak it all up, a slice of lime on the rim of the glass. 

Nate smiles back at him, and Danny is warmed as much by the love in that smile as he is by the heat spread through his back. “Absolutely. I’d n-never let Daddy miss Christmas.”

Not another one, anyway.

“I’ll sl-sleep down here, too,” Nate says, gently. 

Mina’s eyes light up. “Me, too! Christmas sleepover! We all sleep down here!” She looks so fucking delighted, and Danny can’t quite stop his smile. 

Somewhere, in the world, Abraham is a moldering pile of ashes. He took five years of Danny’s life, all told, and left him with pain he’ll carry for the rest of his life. He took five Christmases, five birthdays, he stole a year that Danny could have spent with Nate. 

Abraham stole so much.

But here, right here and now, Daniel Michaelson is determined that that monster will never take from him a single fucking second with his daughter.

“That sounds great,” He says, to Mina’s resounding cheer. Nate settles on the floor so he can lean back against the couch, and Danny chances sliding an arm around his chest, resting his chin on Nate’s shoulder. “Hey, you.”

“Hey, y-you,” Nate replies, his own eyes closing, slowly. He leans back until his hair brushes into Danny’s. Both of them are graying, now, just a little, although Danny’s had silver threading through his red hair like tinsel since he was 24. He turns just enough to press a kiss to the hint of gray at Nate’s temple, down to his eternal five o’clock shadow. 

Danny takes a deep breath - the smell of the pine tree and the fireplace, of the man he loves. Toto huffs a sigh and curls up again. “Merry Christmas, yeah?”

Nate chuckles, watching Mina lean forward to examine a large box wrapped in dinosaur-themed paper. “Yes. M-Merry Christmas, Danny. We m-m-made it.”

“We did.” Danny closes his eyes. “We made it.”

We’re here, and he’s not.

Merry Christmas.

---

@slytherynjolras, @whump-it, @bleeding-demon-teeth, @finder-of-rings, @burtlederp, @whumpywhumper, @18-toe-beans, @pumpkinthefangirl, @special-spicy-chicken, @swordkallya, @astrobly, @slaintetowhump, @moose-teeth, @untilthepainstarts, @whumpiary,  @lave-whump @raigash @cupcakes-and-pain, @whump-tr0pes| @wildfaewhump

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Point of No Return - Part Thirteen

A/N: Hi friends. I hope you are having a lovely night. I am over here having a VERY emotional one, because this here is the LAST part of this series (even though there WILL be an epilogue) and... I am feeling a lot of things about it. If you have been following me for a while- or even if you’re new here- you have likely noticed that I have a slight issue with finishing a story or series in a timely fashion. The number of ongoing WiPs on my masterlist FAR outweighs the number of completed works, but today that number increases by one. The fact that this has been one of my absolute favorite stories to work on in all of my years writing only makes my heart even more soft at this moment, and I want to take this time to sincerely thank everyone who has taken part in this journey with me- especially @something-tofightfor​ who has talked me off of several ledges throughout the writing of this story. Thank you for all of your support and encouragement, I flippin’ love you!!

Warning: discussion of injury, illness, mention of character death, and hell, a little bit of zest ;) 

Summary: The Harvest season has come to a close, another year’s worth of work over... but the close of one season always ushers in the start of another.  

Word Count: 6.5k

It wasn’t quite morning yet.

The Harvest Star slept in towards the end of the season, rising nearly an hour later than it did at the onset. When it finally blinked and stretched its rays over the horizon, the light it brought with it was lazy and slow to kindle into flame. Instead of the vibrant orange glow that woke the world only a few weeks prior, a gentle yellow light filled the air, whispering to all those who toiled under its heat in the fields, “you can rest now, you’ve earned it.”  

No one had earned it more than Clara. 

Ezra watched silently as the morning reached through the window panes to sweep across her still sleeping face. She had fallen asleep on her side facing him, one arm bent beneath her pillow and the other extended in the space between their bodies. As night came to collect the two of them, he had felt her fingers trailing over the veins in his left arm, over his palm, the movement slowing until it stalled completely and her hand curled close to his atop the sheets. Now, the gentle gold starshine fell over her closed eyelids to make them flutter, the individual strands of her lashes picking up the light as they fought to stay shut. Ezra had to fight, too, to resist the urge to trace the soft fringe where it lay against her skin, to find the freckles that dusted her shoulder and connect them with the tip of his index finger, run his thumb over the soft skin of her lips before pressing his own against them. 

Let her sleep. Time for all of that later. 

There was time for all of that and so much more, now. At that thought, a slow smile stretched across his face to pull his cheeks wide. Bringing his hand to his chin, in part to keep himself from waking Clara, Ezra slid his fingers over the short, patchy stubble that currently covered his jaw and the sides of his face. The pad of his pinky fit perfectly into the divot left behind from his clumsy attempt at taking care of his own grooming the previous night. It wasn’t deep enough to leave a permanent scar, but for now there was a visible mark. Still, it's an improvement.  He hadn’t shaved since just before he set out for his last trip up to the Green, his beard already starting to become unruly and overgrown by the time he met Cee, and that had been almost three standard Kamrean weeks ago now. The last two of those weeks had been spent there on the farm, and aside from the three blissful days that had turned out to be nothing but fool’s gold, his infection returning and requiring another round of aggressive medications, he had only been safely out of the woods for the last day and a half. His physical appearance had been the furthest thing from his or anyone’s mind while he fought to survive, to stay with Clara and be there for Cee. 

But since the doctor that Clara had spoken with had said that if he made it through the second course of prescribed antibiotics without the fever returning he was in the clear, Ezra had made a decision. In addition to the adjustments that they all were making following his return and Cee’s arrival, he decided that he had to start adjusting to the other aspects of his second chance at life, too. Namely, life without his dominant arm. While his lungs would recover fully albeit slowly over time, there was no restoring an amputated limb. Though the incisions and sutures were already sealed with new skin growth, the wound was still too fresh and new. The bones and muscles in the remainder of his right bicep were still too internally swollen and traumatized for him to be fitted with a prosthetic or to even see a specialist to determine if he was a candidate. 

Don’t go weighing your harvest before you’ve finished in the fields, right? 

He knew that there was a possibility that he wouldn’t be a candidate to receive a new arm; that the type of injury he had sustained, the amount of disease that had plagued his marrow and tendons could disqualify him from going through that process. That assessment was still months away though; after the rains came and went, after the winter chill fell and lifted, after Siggi and Runa’s upcoming wedding. He didn’t want to give himself false hope about what his life would look like going forward only to be disappointed when that false hope crashed. He knew that there were tasks that he needed to start retraining himself to do left-handed that he would normally use his right or both hands for. Using the restroom and taking a shower had been ungainly at first, but he was able to get by. Eating, so long as he didn’t try to use a knife or a spoon, was also a graceless yet manageable task. Anything that could break or spill if he fumbled it he avoided or asked Cee or Clara for help with, because he didn’t want to create an even more inconvenient situation by making a mess- not after he’d dropped an entire canister of tea powder trying to brew a cup for Clara and ended up throwing the brew basket into the kitchen sink in frustration. He hadn’t tried to do anything as ambitious as write with a pen or tie a shoelace yet, nothing that required real finesse or control. But with the Harvest Dinner coming up- his first in five excruciatingly long years- he wanted to look presentable. 

As much as is possible for a man in my position, that is. 

And to him, that meant attempting a shave. Ezra had always preferred the close cut he got with a traditional straight edge razor over the less than satisfactory shave he gave himself when he used multi-bladed tools. When he opened the mirrored cabinet in the bathroom of his and Clara’s room to see that she had kept his silver razor, right there in its case, clean and sharp and ready for him, he took it as a sign that he should try to use it. Clara and Cee were downstairs in the kitchen, finishing up with some dishes before turning in, so he took that as a sign, too, that this was one of the tasks that he may as well attempt on his own.

The left side was easy. There was nothing to relearn or change about his technique there; straight edge razors are meant to be used with the same side hand as the cheek you’re shaving, so aside from the ever present silver arch that cut through his left cheek, the shave was smooth and experienced. He’d even done a relatively clean job of foaming up the right side of his face and throat with the brush. But when he brought his left hand across his body to bring the blade up to his cheek, it was clear that it wouldn’t be simple. The first swipe of the razor took off only a layer of white foam, his angle not quite right, so he turned his chin further, trying to correct course for the next attempt. He could feel his grip start to slip, the awkward position of his hand and arm protesting the strange motion, but he tightened his hold on the handle and brought the razor back up anyway. 

The shake in his fingers caused the blade to slip even more,  and he hissed as it nicked the skin over his jaw. “Fuck,” he bit out, upper lip snared as he turned his cheek to get a better look at the damage. Along with a strip of wiry dark facial hair, he’d removed a small chunk of flesh. Ah, shit. Beads of bright crimson rushed to the raw surface, bleeding red swirls into the white shaving foam that covered the rest of his jaw and throat. Frustration and anger erupted all at once and he threw the razor down into the sink, the heavy metal tool clattering against the porcelain basin dramatically. Letting out a grunt that was close to a growl, he slammed his hand on the counter, sending the canister of shaving cream tumbling to the ground. “Useless fuckin Kevva-damned piece of sh-“

“Hey.”

Clara’s voice came from the doorway behind him, patient and soft, and the tension in his shoulders vanished as he dropped them, letting out a sigh. From anyone else he would mistake her tone of voice as pity, only serving to enrage him further. But not from her. Snapping his eyes up to the glass in front of him, he met her steady gaze in the reflection. Oh, Huckleberry, what did I do to deserve you? 

“Clara…” he croaked out her name, turning as she stooped down to pick up the orange striped can, replacing the lid as she stood. “ I didn’t hear you come up. I’m sorry, I did not mean to cause you any-“ 

“I know, Ezra.” She didn’t let him finish, setting the can on the counter as he leaned back against it. Reaching past him without breaking eye contact, she grabbed the towel that he’d been using and brought it gently to the cut on the right side of his jawline to clean the blood. She pressed lightly with one finger wrapped in the blue fabric against the shallow divot, tilting her head as he raised his hand to encircle her wrist. “Why didn’t you ask me for help, hmm?” 

He swallowed, closing his eyes while she swiped the towel over his skin finally staunching the flow. “Because I need to,” he inhaled as she let the cloth fall into the basin of the sink with a damp plop, letting the breath out and opening his eyes. “I cannot rely on you or Cee or others for everything. I need to be able to do things for myself.” He scoffed then, casting his eyes downward, feeling how they were darkening and not wanting to shed that on her. “I need to get used to…to this.” He nodded at his right arm, lifting the stump an inch or two away from his side to emphasize its abrupt end. 

Clara placed one hand at his waist, the other sliding along the already trimmed and shaved plane of his left cheek, tenderly turning his attention back to her eyes. “Not all at once you don’t.” She swept her thumb over the rounded top of the arched scar, then elevated on tiptoe to kiss the same place. “And in the meantime, I’d rather not have you carve this face up, Ezra.” She kissed him again. “I happen to like it as is.” 

“I am not the capable man that you once knew, Huckleberry.” He shook his head, eyes still locked on hers. “There’s...I am less now.” It felt pitiful to say, pathetic to admit, but a part of him was stuck on the worry that he was no longer enough for a woman like her, no longer enough to be satisfied with his own level of independence. He knew that Clara would never see him that way, that she would never use his situation against him or see him as anything but the man she’d let into her heart, the man that she loved. 

But I want to be… I want to be more for you, Clara. More than this. 

Her answer unstuck that thought all at once. “You listen to me right now, Ezra.” She swallowed before bringing both of her hands to his shoulders, palms pressed to the seams in the sleeves of the shirt he wore, and he felt the weight of her words before she even spoke them. “You are not less. You never were.” Her head jerked from side to side in a quick motion of dismissal, and he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that what she was saying had more than one meaning. 

Seth wasn’t your fault. 

That was the subtext to her words as she moved her hands from his shoulders to the back of his neck, lacing her fingers there. “We’re going to get through this the way we should have in the first place.” He saw the flash of emotion in her eyes, the threat of tears that she pushed aside. He could see the strength of conviction that she felt as she finished. “Together.” She took a deep breath then, leaning into his chest and laying her right cheek against his left, skin to skin so that her next words could travel directly from her lips to his ear. “You will always be everything to me, Ezra. You will never be less.” 

It was a moment that Ezra knew he would not forget as long as he lived. “You are the only woman in all of Kevva’s creation that I will ever love, Clara,” he responded, wrapping his arm around her back to hold her close. “And I will never stop.”  

He felt the weight in his chest lighten as she ran her fingernails through the hair at the base of his skull. Her soft lips pressed to his cheek once more before she straightened up and pulled back to look at him, and despite the intensity of his feelings for her and the gravity of the things they had just said, he felt a genuine chuckle slip out. Oh, my Huckleberry. Before she could question his reaction, Ezra brought his hand up to her face, pointer finger extended to swipe a dollop of white foam from the tip of her nose. “You had...” he smirked, knowing full well that he looked just as ridiculous with half of his face shaved, the other half still covered in foam as she had looked with it smeared on the tip of her nose. 

Her laughter caused her to fall into him again, her warm breath hitting his skin and making him wonder how he ever let something as trivial as a razor work him up. Straightening back up, she finished uncovering the right side of his face. Her hazel eyes focused on what her fingers were doing, one hand tilting his chin to the correct angle, the other skillfully working to match his right cheek to his left, to clean up the rogue patches of hair that wandered down his throat before she trimmed the mustache she never saw him without. He didn’t know how it was possible, but Ezra felt himself fall more in love with her as she worked. When she was done, once she helped him make sure that all of the excess foam and all of the stray hairs were wiped clean, Ezra kissed her more deeply than he had dared to since he had been home. 

He rested his large palm over the side of her face as his tongue slid into her mouth, coaxing hers to meet it as he tilted his head. The new angle pulled a sudden sigh from her lungs, as though reminding the both of them what he was still capable of. The sound escaped their sealed lips and he groaned in response to the scrape of her teeth along the fleshy inside of his bottom one, her teasing bite a sensation that he had craved like a starving man during the years that they spent apart and one that he would never take for granted again. Nothing. Not the flip in his heart when she sighed or the feel of her fingers making fists in his curls. Not the burning need to take a breath or the desperate desire to dedicate all of himself to every inch of her. Not a single moment. Never again, my Clara. 

They had gone to bed then, continuing the kiss until it devolved into something sloppy and sleepy, dragging the tips of their noses over each other’s skin before pressing their lips and tongues to pulse points, tasting the way that they were speeding up one another’s heartbeats. They let their fingertips and the backs of their knuckles, their palms and the pads of their thumbs find swaths of skin across their necks and backs and abdomens, searching for scars they hadn’t seen before, stretch marks, new clusters of freckles. Though they burned to give each other more, to finally reunite the way that both of their bodies thrummed and vibrated with want to, Ezra felt the way that her touch started to slow, couldn’t fight the way that his own energy was waning. Before he could apologize for not being able to show her just how ardently he loved her, how bottomless his passion for her was, he heard her whisper dreamily into his ear. 

“Time for that later, Ezra.” She yawned in the darkness, nuzzling the bridge of her nose against the freshly shaved ridge of his jawline. “So much time now.”

With that she turned her head to lay one more soft kiss to his lips, one that he returned with tenderness, and then she dropped her head to her pillow, letting her fingers follow the length of his arm into the cup of his palm until both of them had fallen asleep. 

Now, on the last morning of the harvest, while the last vestiges of the season’s bright peachy light finally overtook the lazy yellow glow, Ezra watched as she slowly blinked her eyes open. He listened for that change in her breathing, for the moment when she sighed herself awake with a delicate whimper, and as soon as he heard it, he reached for her chin, thumb and the crook of his index finger gently pulling it towards him, only pausing when her lips were close enough to brush his. “Rise and shine, Clara.” He didn’t give her a chance to respond, dropping his tone an octave and closing the nearly negligible space between their lips so that his meaning could not be misunderstood. “It’s later, Huckleberry.”         

—  —  —  —  —  —

Cee had been busy. 

The brew basket for the tea machine needed tweaking so that it could be opened and filled single-handedly. There was only one handrail going down the stairs and it was on the wrong side. There were a number of small adjustments to be made around the house to help Ezra regain his independence, and she had taken note of the things that she could see to herself. So many maintenance based or reparative tasks had been designated as hers for so long that Cee knew her way around a tool kit. She had taught herself how to wire small electronics and appliances, how to take things apart and make changes to springs and latches, and so with Clara’s permission she had begun to retrofit certain things like drawer pulls and door handles. 

“Is this your skilled handiwork, birdie?” Ezra had asked the first time he came back downstairs, not needing help because he’d been able to properly brace himself on the banister that she’d added to the other side of the stairs. 

“Took it from the basement,” she answered with a shrug. “Clara said no one goes down there so…” 

“Well the installation is top of the line, very secure.” He gave her a lopsided grin before narrowing his dark eyes and tilting his head. “Thank you, Cee.” 

Those last three words had made all the worry and fear worth it. They facilitated her understanding of what family was- a group of people who tried to make things better for one another by caring. 

Following the temporary return of Ezra’s fever, Cee had searched for any distraction she could find that would occupy her mind, giving it something, anything, to do but worry. Runa and Sig had stayed with her for most of the first day of Ezra’s short backslide, the friendly-faced young man doing his best to keep her spirits up, telling her about the upcoming Harvest Dinner and how it was one of the best nights of the year. She knew that he was trying to stay positive, trying to give her something to look forward to in describing the event, but just the thought of celebration while Ezra’s fate was in flux again felt wrong, like a heavy weight in her stomach. 

How can we just… but what if he doesn’t…and Clara, how can they expect her to still have a damn party when this is what’s… 

It was Runa who had finally been able to start soothing the fear that was again pulsing through Cee’s blood with every beat of her heart. She had tasked Siggi with brewing some tea for the three of them, tossing him a wink before pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, at the place where his smile started to pull at his cheeks. He nudged the tip of his nose against hers and nodded, heading directly for the cabinet where Clara kept the tea canister. 

I don’t want tea. I want-

“Let’s get some fresh air, yeah?” Runa stood from the small kitchen table where she had been sitting next to Cee, the girl looking up in time to see the woman’s braided hair and beaded earrings sway as she cocked her head towards the screen door. 

Cee threw a nervous glance over her shoulder towards the staircase, the halo of light from the upstairs hallway illuminating the wooden stairs. There was no sign of Clara, no creak in the floorboards to signal movement upstairs, and Abe was still curled in an orange ball at the bottom, waiting like the rest of them. Her bottom lip twitched into a thin line as she turned back to nod. “Okay…” she rose to her feet, one hand gesturing behind herself. “But, just...if-” 

“When Clara comes down we’ll go right back inside.” She smiled, but something in it felt warm and unforced, genuine and trustworthy. Because she’s not trying to pretend that...that everything is okay. “I promise.”  

Cee had followed her out onto the porch then, the woman taking a seat on the steps instead of the bench. The daylight was starting to fade as the star sunk low, half of the fiery peach-pink sphere vanishing behind the treeline. There were still clouds of pollen swirling above the Thulian fields though, meaning that the rest of the farmhands were still out working, even without Clara and Siggi. Life on the farm never stopped, no matter what else was happening, especially as the season came to a close. She silently sat next to Runa, letting out a sigh and leaning her elbows on her knees. 

“You know, I get it.” Runa turned towards her, her slender arms crossed over her own knees. “I understand how… scared you feel.” 

Cee shook her head.  “I…” I doubt it. Cee felt her forehead furrow in confusion at her own thoughts. Runa had been nothing but honest and forthcoming with her, welcoming and warm, giving her no reason at all to doubt her. It was the same sabotage her instincts had tried to pull regarding Clara and Ezra, and she realized it was because she had been taught to trust no one. I didn’t even trust Damon. But the realization came with a second layer- she wanted to trust people. Licking her lips to sweep a stray tear from them, she swallowed and sniffed. “How?” Wiping at her eyes without taking them off of the fields, she felt her right knee start to bounce. “I mean… how can you understand?” 

Runa sighed, her eyes raking over Cee’s face. “You know Sig and I are getting married soon, right?” Still unsure of where this was going, Cee nodded. “Well, the man who is going to walk me to the altar in a few weeks’ time? He’s not my,” she rolled her eyes and gestured flippantly with one hand. “I was adopted. My real parents?” She scoffed. “That word… it only means what you let it, Cee.” Runa reached over to brush her fingers through the ends of Cee’s ponytail. Her light touch was soft and comforting and it made Cee feel more guilty about her initial reaction of distrust. “The people who adopted me, here on Kamrea… they don’t look like me. They weren’t there when I was born. But they’re my family, as much as Ezra and Clara are yours now.” Cee gasped, her eyes widening. They…  “And I know how terrified I would be if I thought I was going to lose them. But you know what?” she let the hand that had been playing in the wispy strands of the girl’s hair fall to her shoulder. “You have to believe he’s going to be okay. He needs that from you. He’s gonna need you to help him fight, because he’s a fighter, Cee. He’s gonna fight to stay here with you and with Clara. So you need to fight, too, yeah?” 

Fight. She needed to fight her conditioning. Her fears. The doubts, the battles that they were all trying to wade through. She had to push back against the tendency to expect the worst, because for the first time in her life she was surrounded by people who deserved the best, who wanted that for her. 

Cee furrowed her brow, nodding in spite of the tears that she failed to stifle. “Yeah.” 

“Good.” Runa smiled, bringing her thumb up to wipe under Cee’s eyes. “I know this is all new for you. But you’ll see. On Kamrea, we fight for every second. And we celebrate everything.” She let out a small laugh. 

Kevva waits, Kamreans don’t. 

Human life, compared to the life of a star, a moon, the galaxy, was painfully brief even when nothing intervened to cut it even shorter. The fact that the people who called the fertile planet home sought out every chance to celebrate milestones was not only understandable but beautiful to Cee. They want to add more pages in their stories while they can. Have more things to remember. Just as she realized she wanted to trust people, she found herself craving moments that would turn to cherished memories. But… She had limited experience with celebrations of any kind, but what she did know was that they required work to plan. How is Clara going to- “Runa?” 

“Hmm?” 

Cee caught her bottom lip between her teeth out of habit before letting it go. “How can there still be a Harvest Dinner?” She shook her head. “Was Sig just saying that to-“

“Siggi only says what he means, Cee.” She used a serious tone but not an angry one. But, how? “Clara told me, as right after you and Ezra got here, that she was going to have to call off the dinner this year.” That makes sense. How is she going to- “And I told her that was absolutely not going to happen.” What? “I told her that this year, we have more of a reason to celebrate than ever.” She must have been able to read the confusion on Cee’s face, because she went on. “Clara has always done so, so much for everyone around her. And she’s never once asked for anything in return.” Cee knew that to be true, firsthand. Runa nodded. “There are so many people who would love to be able to help her now, Cee. So there will be a Harvest Dinner, and Clara won’t have to do a single thing. It’s all being taken care of.” 

And it had been. 

Now, the Harvest Dinner only hours away, Cee couldn’t keep the grin from her cheeks. She had been busy, changing handles, helping Ezra as she could, and getting things ready for the celebration so that when Runa and the rest came with their dishes and trays, all they would have to do was set them out. She found the folding tables in the barn and dragged them out to the yard, pushing them together to make one long rectangular one. Setting out chairs was next, followed by the little place cards that Runa had written out for her. Cee. Ezra. Clara. She grouped the three of them together, adding the rest in front of the remaining seats. Aldo, Kinney, Marta, Molly, Siggi, Runa. So many people. She found the names of Runa’s brothers, Arlin and Jay, and sucked in a breath as she read the latter of the two- she’d been busy getting to know the two boys, both around her age, as they had been coming to help finish the harvest while Clara was taking care of Ezra. 

But Jay had made her smile. He made her cheeks flush with warmth whenever he looked at her, made her stomach fill with butterfly wings the few times he had said her name. When she felt his dark, almost coal black eyes glance her way, she felt a sudden need to inspect her shoes. I… I like him. She smiled to herself, cheeks likely a shade that would match the fluffy bales of Thulian in the silo, and switched the cards around on the table. 

Clara. Ezra. Cee… Jay. Arlin. Runa. Siggi.  

Before she could talk herself out of switching it back, she turned away from the table and headed inside to shower and get changed. The guests would be arriving soon, and she wanted to look her best for her first Harvest Dinner. Though she was clearly smitten with Runa’s brother, the excitement she felt as she took the stairs two at a time had more to do with the fact that finally, after all of the obstacles there was finally something good and fun and happy for them all to enjoy. Together. 

It was her first Harvest Dinner, and before it even started she had just one thought. First one… with my family. 

—  —  —  —  —  —  

It felt like a dream. 

Clara blinked back tears but her elation kept them coming. Her vision was slightly blurred and watery by the time she sat down at the table, faces and smiles all swimming in the warm rosy gold light of Harvest End, the shorn fields of Thulian acting as a backdrop for her happiness. Music played through speakers that Siggi and Cee had set up, laughter and conversation mixing with the melody, punctuated by the clatter of silverware on plates and serving spoons against glass bowls. The smell of fresh baked Crater-Apple turnovers from Molly’s mingled with the honey loaf Runa had baked and the candy-sweet smell of the pollen, just barely able to hide the hint of petrichor, the rain promising to hold off until the Harvest had been properly celebrated. In so many ways, it was like all of the previous Harvest Nights she could remember having at the farm; family and friends, food, warm weather and fuzzy, dizzy feelings of relief and pride and happiness. 

Aside from the obvious reasons, the night had started on a high note when Siggi had accepted her proposal of taking over the farm when she was ready to step down. It was still eight to ten years in the future, but simply knowing that he was on board, that her farm, her family’s legacy was going to be in good, caring, capable hands had removed a weight from her shoulders and her heart. The lightness left behind was only amplified by the surprise and excitement written not only over Siggi’s face but Runa’s as well, the young couple practically floating with all of the love and possibility that existed between them. It added even more to the night of celebration, but despite the fact that she was glad he had accepted, the offer had been part of Clara’s plan even before Kevva had granted her the things she only dared to dream about. 

The night felt like a dream not because of the Harvest Dinner or because the future of the farm was secure, but because when she turned to her right, Ezra was there.

For the thousandth time since the man had come back to her, she felt her heart skip and leap. For the millionth time since hearing the message from Cee, she thanked Kevva and Fate and every blade of grass and grain of sand and clump of soil that he had to tread for leading him home. For a countless, innumerable time, she felt a new space open wider in her chest for the young girl who found him at his worst and reminded him of who he was at his best. 

My Ezra. 

It felt like a dream, because for the first time in five years, Clara had a family that was unquestionably hers. 

He turned then, a grin stuck on his face as his eyes found hers, and she couldn’t stop herself from leaning in and kissing him, kissing the lips she’d missed as they twitched into an even wider grin beneath her own. I missed you so much, Ezra. Reaching under the table to where it rested in his lap, she took his hand and squeezed. Inside of the short seconds of their kiss, the tiny slice of time that her fingers threaded through his, images of that morning flashed behind her closed eyelids, and she gasped against his mouth as she heard the thick need in his voice as his words played back in her memory.  

“It’s later, Huckleberry.”

He was still a ways out from engaging in anything truly strenuous, his breathing and muscle strength still not at full capacity even if he had finally beaten the lethal infection. But that hadn’t stopped him from doing all that he was able to do to show her that the fire between them had never gone out.

“Even with two hands,” he whispered into her ear as she leaned gingerly back into him, back to his chest where he had pulled her into his lap, “I was never able to hold as much of you as I wanted .” He trailed his tongue up one side of her throat as he let his palm travel slowly down her naked body, a thin moan practically disintegrating as it left her lips at the sensation. You can have as much of me as you want, Ezra, as much of me as-  “Never able to feel, to touch as much of you as I need to at once.” He pressed his hand low over her abdomen, thick fingers splayed wide, the tips of them reaching down between her legs to brush the warm flesh there, and her thoughts splintered into shards at the pressure. “Now, it is an even more impossible goal. Do you know how I’m going to account for that, Clara?”

Her eyes rolled closed at the feel of her name rumbling through his lungs against her back, at the slow movement of his fingers as they traveled further down to where she wanted him most. Her hips rolled into his hand of their own volition and she was immensely glad that her body remembered how to take control because her mind was already a mess. Fuck, Ezra, I- She swore that she could feel each etched ridge of his fingerprints as they passed over her body, each looping pattern. She reached behind herself to grasp a handful of his hair and was rewarded with a husky groan and a light nip of his teeth around her earlobe, and when she spoke her voice sounded foriegn and faint. “Tell me how, Ezra.” 

His hand slid further down until he could tease her with two fingers, languidly circling the slick skin surrounding her core, and when he answered, his words dripped like honey into her ear. “By taking my time with you.” 

There was an eruption of light and heat that blazed through her entire being as he pushed one and then both of the fingers he had teased her with inside of her, and she had to turn her face to bury her moans into his neck so that they couldn’t be heard all the way on the surface of the toxic moon that had torn them apart for so long. She wanted to respond, to tell him that he could take as much time as he wanted, but his touch after so many nights and days without it had completely erased her ability to communicate in anything but gasps and sighs, kisses and whimpers. 

That had possibly been for the best though, as she wasn’t sure what hearing her assurances would do to him in his current state. Already Clara could feel the length of him, hard and stiff where it pressed against her, and she knew that neither of them would last long enough to fully express what they wanted to. “Take-” she gasped as his digits curled and pushed deeper into her. “Take your time, Ezra… so much time now.” 

After he had brought her through multiple waves of ecstasy, Clara found the strength to peel herself away from him, to spin and settle herself between his thighs, her heavy lidded eyes drunk on the taste of him before she even closed her mouth around him. She had been right- he hadn’t lasted long, but she had made sure that he savored every second that he spent trapped between her lips, her tongue trailing over the tip of him to collect every slick drop. Between the heat of his body, the feel and flavor of him, the strained quality of his voice and the shake in his fingers as he dragged them through her hair and over her spine, she was halfway gone again herself. Gonna take my time, too, Ezra. 

There was all of that and so much more to look forward to now and even as she sat at the table next to him, next to Cee and surrounded by all of the people who had come into her life, there in the place that was most important to her, it still felt like a dream.

But it isn’t. 

They had all lost things, had all suffered and had all known pain. They had all battled through darkness and unspeakable nightmares, had endured tests and trials that were enough to push some people past their breaking point, beyond the point where return is even possible. There were still more things, other obstacles that they had to overcome, and even without those, Clara had thought, more than once, that she herself had become a lost cause, another ghost to haunt the living like a cautionary tale about falling too far into love. 

As the coarse hair over Ezra’s upper lip bushed her skin, the man dragging his kiss across her lips and finally pulling back to let her bask in the warmth of his smile, she closed her eyes and leaned the side of her nose along his. 

I’m not dreaming, she finally determined. I’m living. We are living.

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Thank you for reading! If you would like to be added to or removed from the tags for this or any of my series/characters, please feel free to let me know! :) 

*** This is the FINAL chapter for this story. The Epilogue, titled Petrichor, will follow the events of this series- But if there are any questions that you have regarding these characters, any scenes that you would like to see or things that you are interested in getting from a different POV, please consider my ask box OPEN! ***

Tags:  @something-tofightfor​​​​ @alraedesigns​​​​ @pheedraws​​​​ @shoopidly​​​​ @fific7​​​​ @valkblue​​​​ @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan​​​​ @cannedsoupsucks​​​​ @tobealostwanderer​​​​ @paracosmenthusiast​​​​ @gracie7209​​​ @dihra-vesa​​​​ @marauderskeeper​​​​ @disgruntledspacedad​​​​ @novemberrain221​​​@thisshipwillsail316​

[fangirlingtodeath513]

eyes on the prize | a destiel fanfic explicit, PWP, no archive warnings apply, 1.8k words

It all started with a simple, innocent text. Okay, maybe not innocent. Castiel had woken up to a cold, empty bed. He’d been used to having Dean around during quarantine, but now that the world was finally back in order, at least for the most part, Castiel’s constant now was a frigid, too-large bed.

Today, though... today he’d woken up rock-hard, a whisper of Dean’s name on his lips as he was finally dragged from the glorious, pleasure-filled dream into the real world. He rolls over to grab for Dean and that’s when the reality hits him: Dean’s at work and Castiel’s alone. So, rather than taking care of his hard-on himself, he rolls over and feels around the nightstand for his cell phone.

In his opinion, the photo he sends is rather tasteful. He leaves his briefs on and grips his shaft through them, just enough that the outline of his obviously hard cock is visible but no skin is showing. It’s a lot more tasteful than other pictures he’s sent to Dean, at least. 

He doesn’t hear back from Dean, which is odd. He texts again at lunch to wish him a wonderful rest of his day, but his text goes unanswered yet again. It throws him off his rhythm, so he doesn’t even manage to finish the painting he’d been working on for a client. He doesn’t have to ship it for another week, thankfully, so he eventually just gives up and wanders into the kitchen. He ends up making dinner—Dean’s favorite, just in case he’d inadvertently angered or embarrassed Dean with his photo—and becomes so engrossed that he doesn’t even hear the apartment door open. 

Dean’s keys clattering onto the table near the door is what draws his attention. He turns to find his husband hastily removing his jacket and just dropping it on the floor. Castiel opens his mouth to tell him to hang it up but then watches the frantic energy that Dean has as he toes his shoes off and makes for the kitchen, eyes locked on him with a mix of hunger and something else that Castiel can’t put his finger on.

He’s barely able to put down the spatula he’d been using before Dean’s crowding him against the counter and kissing him within an inch of his life. It leaves him breathless, dizzy, and delightedly confused when Dean finally pulls away, though he just moves to kiss his way down Castiel’s neck. He tilts his head without a second thought, threading his fingers through Dean’s hair.

“Well hello to you, too,” Castiel murmurs, a ghost of a laugh in his tone. 

Dean scoffs against his neck, leaning back just enough to shoot Castiel a look of incredulity. “Hello? You expect me to say hello when I’ve spent the entire day hiding behind my desk, rock fucking hard because I knew you were at home getting yourself off and all I could do was stare at my computer screen and think about it?” 

Castiel grins, albeit a little sheepishly, and brushes his fingers through the hair at the back of Dean’s head. “I’d apologize, but I’m not very sorry. I missed you this morning. I figured you’d enjoy a small—“ Dean scoffs at the notion that Castiel is in any way small, to Castiel’s simultaneous joy and embarrassment “—reminder of our lazy days in bed. I apologize if it ruined your day.”

Dean grunts, shuffling away from Castiel. For a moment, Castiel worries his apology has been too effective and ruined the mood, but then Dean shuts off the stove burners and moves the half-cooked food off the heat. 

“Dean, I—“ He doesn’t get to finish his protests. Dean’s lips are back on his and after just a moment, Dean bends and grabs Castiel behind the knees, hauling him into Dean’s arms. Dean tends to be the more submissive one in the bedroom, so the unusual show of strength rips a throaty groan from Castiel. It seems to only spur Dean on as he turns and heads for their bedroom, his lips never once leaving Castiel’s skin.

He’s deposited rather unceremoniously onto their bed, though he can’t really complain. Dean’s disheveled, his obvious erection straining in his dress pants as he stands above Castiel, seemingly drinking in the sight of him. Castiel leans back on his forearms, smirking up at his husband.

“Enjoying the view?”

Dean hums noncommittally, which simply won’t do. Castiel keeps his eyes locked on Dean’s face, slipping his hand down to grip his own erection through his sweatpants. Dean’s sweatpants, his brain helpfully supplies, but the action seems to have the effect Castiel was hoping for. Dean’s knees waver and he licks his lips, eyes flickering up to Castiel’s face. There’s a hint of defiance twinkling in his eyes, though the question behind them is still rather obvious.

“Go ahead,” Castiel encourages, a smirk curling his lips. “Show me what you’ve been thinking about all day, my love.” 

Dean shivers at the endearment as he sinks to his knees, which are thankfully protected at least a little by the plush carpet of their bedroom—something they’d argued about for months before Castiel had eventually won. He’s sure Dean’s knees thank him every time they settle into that softness rather than an unforgiving hardwood floor. 

Dean’s fingers are cold when they curl around Castiel’s hips, frozen by the bitter winter temperatures of the northeast. Perhaps he’s just feverish with arousal. Maybe it’s a combination of both. He doesn’t really care. All he can focus on is Dean’s fingers as he tugs Castiel’s sweatpants and briefs off, leaving them bunched around his thighs as he presses his tongue to the ridge on the underside of Castiel’s cock, making him gasp and curl his fingers into the sheets. Dean seems to take pleasure in the response, his cold, broad hands trailing up and down Castiel’s thighs as he licks and teases and sucks his cock, his cartoonishly plump lips easily swallowing Castiel to the root. He could come just like this—has several times, in fact—but that’s not what’s on the agenda for tonight. Dean’s been looking forward to this since Castiel texted him earlier and Castiel won’t deprive his husband of his fantasies. God knows they’ve acted out enough of both of their fantasies. 

“Earth to Castiel,” Dean murmurs against the skin of his hip, pressing a gentle kiss there. Castiel blinks down at him, brushing his fingers through Dean’s hair gently.

“I’m here,” he assures, a soft smile on his lips. He brushes a thumb over the collection of freckles beneath Dean’s left eye, letting out a pleased hum when Dean leans into the touch. “Why don’t you come up here, hm? You deserve a reward for my teasing today,” Castiel murmurs, dipping his thumb into Dean’s mouth. Dean instantly closes his lips around it, teasing the pad with his tongue. “Fuck, Dean.” It’s a whisper more than anything, but Dean’s eyes roll up to look at him and he can see just how pleased his husband is with the response. Smirking, Castiel hauls him up onto the bed and swaps positions, discarding his sweats and briefs as he straddles Dean’s waist. The slide of their erections against each other makes them both gasp, Dean’s hands scrambling for Castiel’s waist. 

“God, dreamed about this all day. About what would’ve happened if I’d been home.”

Castiel smirks as he rolls his hips lazily, fingers tracing Dean’s nipples through the fabric of his dress shirt. “Yeah? And what did you imagine would have happened?”

Dean arches into the touch, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he sucks in a breath. “That you’d roll over and just take me. I’d still be loose from last night so you could work me open before I even opened my eyes.” Dean shivers as Castiel’s blunt nails scrape over his erection through his dress pants, whimpering quietly.

“Keep going,” Castiel encourages, rewarding Dean’s cooperation by unbuttoning his dress shirt and helping his husband out of it. Castiel closes his lips around Dean’s left nipple as Dean begins to speak again.

“O-or maybe you’d leave me like that. Not prepped all the way. Then I’d wake up to your cock in me, the burn of you stretching me open...” He trails off as Castiel bites down on his nipple, grabbing onto his shoulder tightly. “Oh, Cas, fuck.”

Castiel smirks, laving his tongue over his nipple gently. “That’s the plan.”

He can’t quite see Dean roll his eyes, but he knows his husband well enough to know that he most certainly does. Dean has his fair share of stupid puns most days, so Castiel has no problem reciprocating. 

“Perhaps we can fulfill that fantasy in the morning,” Castiel murmurs, his fingers slipping down to brush over Dean’s hole. He nearly comes when he finds Dean already prepped, his body ready and waiting to swallow Castiel’s cock. “God, Dean, you prepped yourself at work?”

He looks up to find Dean smirking at him as he winds his legs around Castiel’s waist. “I told you, Cas. Been lookin’ forward to this all day.”

Castiel shivers at the image of Dean prepping himself in his office, knowing he could be walked in on at any point, and leans over to grab the lube in their nightstand. He doesn’t waste any time divesting them both of the rest of their clothes, slicking his cock, and sinking into Dean. They both gasp at the feeling. Dean clutches at Castiel’s shoulders and Castiel can’t find the drive within himself to take this slow. Dean’s been waiting for this and honestly? He kind of has, too.

Dean’s legs tighten around his waist as Castiel puts more force behind his thrusts. Their kisses turn more into them just sharing breaths and moans and gasps than actually kissing. He can’t complain about that, though. It only makes it feel all the more intimate.

He can tell the moment Dean’s about to come. His hands slip down to Castiel’s biceps, gripping tightly as he buries his face in the crook of Castiel’s neck. Dean always gets quiet and clingy when he’s close and Castiel fucking loves it. Dean comes with his arms wrapped around Castiel’s shoulders, clinging to his husband as if his life depends on it. Castiel isn’t very far behind, capturing Dean’s lips in a warm kiss that makes his heart skip a beat as he comes, cradling his husband in his arms.

He gives himself a moment to catch his breath before carefully shuffling them onto the bed, holding Dean tightly and kissing his forehead. “All day, huh?”

Dean snorts. “Been thinkin’ about that, have you? Yes, all day. That picture was… mmm.”

Castiel grins and leans over to kiss his husband quickly. “I”m glad you liked it.”

“Hm,” Dean answers, resting his head on Castiel’s shoulder. “I think I’d like those burgers I saw on the way in even more.”

Castiel laughs, though he happily obliges with a fond shake of his head. They don’t bother to dress, just throw on their matching robes and head for the kitchen. Their burgers may get a little burnt while Dean satiates his appetite for Castiel once again, but neither of them mind.

[astronautikals]

empires fall

Request: where spencer has a hard case so the reader reminds him the world can still be kind?? 🥰 (@spenceneedsahug)

A/N: Alrighty takin’ the dive for CM fanfic haha--hope I’ve fulfilled at least some of what you’re looking for! requests are open

Category: Hurt/Comfort; Emotional Angst; Fluff

CW: implied depression, emotional distance, work-related traumas

Word Count: 1.75K

________

I wake up just as the secondhand ticks past 4:36.

Someone’s moving around in the living room, letting their keys clatter together and dropping down what I know is a heavy, well-worn satchel.

I relinquish some of my grip on the comforter and roll back to my side of the bed, settling in only moments before the bedroom door is pushed open. He’s trying to be quiet for my sake, so I close my eyes and pretend he actually is. I’ll let him have his peace for tonight—from the way he lifelessly pulls off his clothes, I can tell he doesn’t really want to talk. Not yet, at least.

The creak of the bathroom door cuts past the white noise of the quavering fan overhead, and moments later, when the shower turns on, I start to drift off again.

And then I’m awake once more, startled by the sound of something—someone—gasping. When it happens a second time, I don’t miss it.

I swing my feet out of bed, nearly stumbling on the covers as I try and get to the bathroom door. My heart’s jumped into my throat and I can hardly see through my panic. But just as I make a move to burst inside and save this boy from some unknown enemy, I hear him choke on a sputtering of sobs.

I knock gently instead.

“Spencer?” I call, softly pushing the door open. The steam that rushes out is uncomfortably warm for this cool July night, so when I step inside, I pull off my sweatpants.

“Spencer?” I say again. On the other side of the curtain, I hear him struggle to even out his breathing.

“I’m fine, Y/N,” he replies, just loud enough to be heard over the water. “Go back to bed. I’ll just be a minute.”

 His voice is steady and practiced. But I know him—and I know that he’s spent too much time with professional profilers, learning exactly how to lie.

I peel back the plastic drape quietly.

His back is red from the heat and marked by old scars cutting back and forth, but he doesn’t move out from under the shower head.

“I’ll be okay,” Spencer croaks, his head still turned down. “Go back to bed. It’ll be okay.”

“Let me just be here with you,” I try. I don’t want to force him into anything—of course not—but leaving him alone to argue with his own mind is more dangerous than any potential outburst he might have at me. So when he doesn’t respond, I quickly tug off my shirt and step over the lip of the tub.

He doesn’t turn to me. The water steams off in waves just as it splashes onto his shoulders, and I ease my hand into the stream so he can sense my approach.

Still, when the pads of my fingers meet his upper arm, he shatters—choking on air, dipping his body over, and falling into my chest as a strangled sob breaks through. His lungs are tripping over themselves, struggling to grab oxygen for the rest of his body as he gasps and cries into my collarbone. I stumble under the unexpected weight and the wild swing of emotion, but I never let him go.

“Spence, breathe,” I plead, wrapping him in my arms. My hand runs up the nape of his neck and into his hair, scratching the backside of his scalp. The bridge of Spencer’s nose presses into my throat.

It’s a parental kind of position—the sort you get when you curl up to your mother after an endless nightmare and beg for comfort. I don’t know exactly what he’s looking for in this moment, honestly, but I’ll be anyone he needs.

Regardless, as his breathing evens out and warms the skin pulled over my collarbone, Spencer untangles himself slightly in search of a stretch. Without meeting my eyes, he brings me into his chest before easing us towards the floor of the tub. My undergarments are soaked through entirely at this point, but I haven’t thought about it since I stepped into the water.

The water is still warm as it hits us down here on the ground.

Spencer rests his back against the wall, wrapping his arms around me from behind and scooting me over to sit on his upper thighs. I lean backwards slowly, laying myself along his torso and my head just below his shoulder.

He doesn’t say anything for a long while. I don’t press him to, either. His breathing isn’t nearly as erratic as it had been, but I know there are still tears slipping silently out of his eyes.

I turn slightly onto my side, reaching for his right arm and pulling it to my chest. For a while, it doesn’t even feel like he recognizes I’m there anymore. I steal a glance at his face, but Spencer’s not looking at me—his eyes train lifelessly on the tile around the faucet and his muscles grow limp. When I trace my finger along the inside of his forearm, he doesn’t even tense up the way he often does when I inadvertently inch too close to the scars tucked in the crook of his elbow.

Eventually, Spencer’s torso shifts as he turns to stare off into the shower curtain instead. He inhales deeply—a mark of some stability.

“I’m not—I’m not as good at compartmentalizing anymore,” he soon confesses, curling his shoulders in. “I just—just—I can’t leave it in the field anymore and I—”

“Hey,” I interject softly, rubbing my thumb against the inside of his wrist, “maybe that’s not such a bad thing. Maybe you needed a reminder that you’re not just some machine for the Bureau to run into the ground. It’s okay if you need time off—it just means you’re still human, that your empathy is still strong.”

“No,” he disagrees grimly, “it means I’ve got a clock on me.”

I hesitate for a moment, pushing my hair off my neck. His heart thrums softly now against his ribcage—a mark of either acceptance or defeat. My hands grip the sides of the porcelain tub, pushing myself into a position where I can move his own hair out of his face.

“This doesn’t make you useless,” I finally say. “Not at all.”

“I don’t know where I go from here, Y/N.”

He meets my eyes for the first time since he’s come home. There are years and years of exhaustion caked behind those irises and under those bags, but I know that this isn’t the kind of tiredness you can sleep off—this is existential.

My stomach sinks as his lips twinge downwards.

What do they call it—the bystander effect? Yeah, that feels appropriate.

“I’ll never make you talk about anything you can’t bear to relive,” I begin, catching Spencer’s chin as he averts his gaze, “but whatever you’ve seen in the last few days is an anomaly in a world largely made up of good and loving individuals.

“You see the worst of us. I know you know it’s hard to forget the things that hurt the most, but there is so, so much good in even our little corner of the world. I watched a man stop traffic today for a raccoon. A girl in the grocery store ran through the aisles singing about beavers as her grandmother picked out cake mixes. The sun came up this morning during my run, and the whole park stopped to watch.”

A tear slips from his eyes, but I catch it before it can fall off his jaw.

“You’ve got me, Spencer. You’ve always got me. And I love you more than I ever thought I could love anything. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve to have you in my life, but I’ll never win a better lottery.

“Your teammates would take a bullet for you without a second thought—you know that, right?” I ask rhetorically, encouraged when the corner of his lips twitch upwards. “You’ve saved the lives of more people than you could ever account for, Dr. Statistics, and I know from personal experience that the world is far better just because you’re in it.

“You don’t have to work for the Bureau anymore if you don’t want to—at some point, I know it’ll be too much, and I will never think any less of you if you ever decide to step away. Just, whatever you want to do—I know that your mom is so, so proud of you. And you don’t need my validation, but I am extremely proud of you, too. All the time.”

His tears come a little more freely now, slipping down his cheeks easily and leaving salt and red-rimmed eyelids in their wake. Spencer’s nostrils flare slightly as he swallows down the lump in his throat, and though I keep one hand under his jaw and rubbing the skin just before his ear, I don’t force him to look at me.

“You deserve the world, Spencer. And I will spend the rest of my life getting you to believe that, too.”

He doesn’t respond verbally, but I know he’s heard me from the way his brow slowly furrows in harsh acceptance. After a few heavy breaths, Spencer seems to tune back in, and when he tilts back towards my own gaze, the creases in his forehead soften. I watch as his lips quiver into the most delicate of smiles.

His hands drift from their place on my outer thighs and instead gently cup the back of my head, his thumbs on my tragi. It’s a long, closed-mouth kiss he gives me—the kind where I have the time and awareness to scratch over his scruff and remember just how rigged my life’s lottery must’ve been for me to be here.

After the blink of an eye and an eon pass simultaneously, Spencer pushes my head past his own and wraps his arms around me tightly until we’re one body. It’s kind of sticky for a moment, but I don’t dwell on it long. I’m never far from comfort with him around, and really, I’m never that far from him at all.

“I wish I had a thousand words for love, but all that comes to mind is the way you move against me while you sleep & there are no words for that.” — Brian Andreas

[dragonologist-in-the-making]

Hi!! Could you please write something for Sirius where he's with the reader but they get in a fight and ignore each other because he said some mean things to her but one night the reader has a horrible nightmare and goes to Sirius in the middle of the night to check up on him and stays there? And like he wakes up and he's like Uhh what's happened? And they make up and he makes her feel better? Thank you so much!!

Title: Apologies

 Pairing: Sirius x reader

 A/N: I really hope I did this justice! It was so much fun to write, thank you for requesting!!

 Wordcount: 1.9k

 Warnings: there’s a curse or two in there, I didn’t proof read so probably grammatical errors (sorry)

Requests are still open!

To most people in Hogwarts, it seemed like a normal day. The sun was still shining through the early autumn sky, and many students were out in the grounds to soak up the rest of the sunshine before it disappeared in time for winter. In the sixth year boys Gryffindor dorm room, however, a heated argument had broken out.

 “Absolutely not, (y/n)! Do you know how dangerous it is? How much can go wrong?! No, you’re not doing this!” Sirius shouted at her, both of you standing at other ends of the dorm, shoulders square and postures tense, throwing angry words at each other whenever you got the chance.

 “And why not, Sirius?” She shot back, acid laced through her voice. Three boys sat spectating, all sitting together on one of the beds, interjecting every so often to try and calm things down but quickly withdrawing once they were being shouted at, too. “Remus is my best friend, he has been for much longer than I even knew who you were. He’s happy for me to try and become an Animagus, so why aren’t you?” She screamed, pushing back the feeling of tears prickling at her eyes. Angry crying was such an inconvenience.

 “Do you know how dangerous it is?” He countered, folding his arms across his chest and lowering his voice, trying to seem calmer and inject some form of logic into his argument.

 “Of course I know the risks, I’m not an idiot.” She snapped back, not bothering to give him the same courtesy in lowering her voice too. No, he would feel her wrath. “But the risks are worth it, to help my best friend. Which, if I’m remembering right, is the same conclusion you came to.”

 “Do you know how difficult it is?” At this attempt to dissuade you, you scoffed.

 “Well you three idiots seemed to manage just fine.” You quipped back, seeing James shrug in agreement as he looked at Sirius. “And surely having your help is only going to make it easier for me to do it right!”

 “Sirius, she’s not entirely wrong.” Remus stood up, beginning to reason, holding his hands up in a surrendering position when Sirius turned a piercing glare towards him. “Hear me out. When you’re stuck on something in class, (y/n) is the first person any of us will turn to, because she’ll know the answer. She’s smart, Sirius, she’s brilliantly smart. She can do this.”

 “This isn’t a piece of homework we need help with, Moony!” His voice had risen again, anger exploding from him now, sending a shockwave throughout the dorm. “This is so much more than class smarts, this is extremely difficult magic, even full wizards who have trained for years struggle with this, you know that! This isn’t some silly little charm that can help us pack a suitcase quickly!” The silence which rang through the room was deafening. His eyes moved to meet hers, glassy with tears, broken, but stone cold.

 “That’s it?” She whispered, not able to bring her voice any louder as the revelation hit her. “You don’t think I’m intelligent enough?” She shook her head as he tried to reach out to her, to correct what he’d said, to try and steer the conversation in a different direction. “No. You said it, and you can’t take it back. I might not be intelligent enough for this, but I am smart enough to know when I’m being treated like shit, and I’m not going to put up with that.” She shouldered her way past him, ignoring his shouts after her. She paused at the doorway, turning back to meet his eyes one last time. “When you’ve realised what a dick you’re being, you know where to find me.” And with that, you turned and walked back towards your dorm, your heart heavy with the crushing weight that he didn’t think you were good enough.

 “(y/n)!”

 …

 After a night spent in your dorm with Remus, who brought more than his fair share of chocolate, her anger had just dissipated into a stubborn resolve to not speak to Sirius until he had apologised. It had been four days already, and she’d managed to find new seats in every class, managed to avoid his glances when she would walk into the common room. Meal times had become extremely irregular, in an attempt to avoid seeing him, which so far had been successful. But it was wearing down on her, which was why Remus had called for a night spent in her dorms, talking about nothing in particular but just having her best friend there to comfort her and stuff her face in chocolate.

 It had been hours, though, and her eyes began to fall closed, the weight of the last few days taking its toll. With one last hug and a gentle kiss to her forehead, he left the dorm to go back to his own, passing the girls walking into their dorm as he left. She looked after him guiltily, even though he assured her that it was Sirius’ fault and not hers, she knew that the relationship between Sirius and the rest of the Marauders had been tense, they wouldn’t dare say it but they all thought he was in the wrong.

 Nevertheless, sleep won the battle of her emotions, and she climbed into her covers, pulling them tight over her as she slowly drifted off into a her own dreamworld.

 She was running through streets, trying to avoid someone, trying to escape from them. Her breath was coming in harder, sharper, as she pushed herself, not knowing where she was going, but having a strong indication of who she was running from. Her hand hurt from how tightly she was gripping her wand, she could feel the sweat building up as she kept going, becoming more and more desperate.

 She stopped running when she reached a square, although where she was she wasn’t really sure. She took in the five figures before her, James next to Lily with her fiery hair standing out against the bleakness around them, Sirius in between Remus and Peter. Immediately she joined their circle, back to back and turned to see what they were fighting against. Hooded figures began to appear all around them, and spells flew in every direction, from every wand, including hers although she didn’t know what she was casting.

 They seemed to be gaining the upper hand, the hooded figures were falling or fleeing, until a bright jet of green light caught her attention, and she watched it hit her boyfriend squarely in the chest, and watched him fall backwards as it took effect.

 She jolted upright, sweat pouring off her body as her heart pounded in her chest, sure it was about to break free with the force of it. Trying to calm her breathing, trying to process the dream she had just had, the tears began to slide down her cheeks as the image of her worst nightmare, of her boyfriend floated in front of her. Even though she knew it was a dream, and he was sleeping soundly in his dorm not too far away, fear constricted in her chest, not letting her breath, and she swung her legs off the side of her bed, pulling a jumper over her head as she silently padded out of the dorm, feet pulling her before her brain could really process where she was going.

 She pushed the door open slightly, and was happy to see the boys all sound asleep, moonlight casted over their snoring faces. She crept in, pushing the door closed behind her, and walked to Sirius’ bed, where his hair was splayed out across the pillow and he was curled up tightly, one arm extended into the empty space in his bed. The space where she would normally be sleeping next to him.

 Unable to help herself, glad to see that he was sleeping peacefully, she reached out a hand a cupped his cheek, leaning over to press a small kiss to his forehead, a secret sign to him that even though they were fighting, her love was still there. He stirred slightly, not opening his eyes but turning his arm so it was palm up.

 “C’mere.” He muttered, barely audible. She hesitated, not sure if she wanted to share a bed with him after everything that had happened in the last week, but the thought of going back to her own bed and enduring another nightmare had her quickly climbing under the sheets, pulling them up around her as Sirius’ arms naturally encircled her, pulling her into his chest as he made fast work of falling back asleep. Finally feeling that you could rest, you too fell back asleep.

 …

 “(y/n)?” She was awoken by the gentle sound of her name being uttered in confusion. Memories of the night before flooded back to her, and she felt her cheeks tinge pink as she would have to explain why Sirius had woken up with an extra person in his bed. She reluctantly opened her (y/e/c) eyes to meet his stormy grey ones, still clouded by sleep and, to her relief, free from any anger or seemingly negative emotion.

 “Morning.” She offered meekly, a shy smile playing on her lips as she refused to meet his gaze, staring intently at his shoulder instead. “I’m sorry,” she started, beginning to explain the confusing circumstances. “I had a nightmare and I had to see you, and I didn’t want to be alone again and you told me to get in so I did-“ her rambling was cut off as he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, a silent reassurance that it was okay, and he was glad she was with him.

 “I’m sorry too.” He apologised as she finally looked up at him again and saw his guilt written all over his face. “I know you’re smart enough, of course you are, I just couldn’t think about what might happen if it went wrong. With the boys, I guess we didn’t think enough, we were all doing it together and we were just so sure it would work. We were lucky it did, but now I have hindsight and I just panicked when I thought of losing you. But you were all right, having me by your side is only going to decrease the chances of it going wrong, and I have to accept that you can make this choice for yourself.” They smiled at each other, grateful that the seemingly endless period of coldness between them had gone away.

 He dipped his head lower, meeting her lips in a soft kiss, one filled with apology and forgiveness, and relief to be back in each others arms. Eventually, she felt the need to breathe and she pulled away, pressing her lips gently to his collarbone as she could feel his breath on her hair. “Can I taste Moony’s chocolate?” He laughed as he licked his lips.

[silverlightqueen]

Fallen

silverlightqueen’s SKZ Scarefest

angel!felix x demon!reader - comedy, fluff, felix worrying about losing his job as an angel lmao 

Word Count: 2.4k+

Summary - Felix is an angel. Literally. Like, from Heaven. And he’s the best at being one. Never has he let temptation lead him astray. Never has he stopped before doing what is right. Never has he abandoned his assigned humans, even those that provide the most challenge. He’s never stepped a toe out of line, always kept his crush on a particularly annoying demon a secret. That is, until, he wakes up in the bed of said annoying demon with lipstick stains on his skin and his halo a little crooked.

Warnings: explicit discussion of sex, making out, that’s it I think but let me know if I missed something please!

this is dedicated to the lovely @brinnalaine​ for being such a supportive sweetheart, so I hope you enjoy this little fic about our sunshine!

a/n: and here is the sixth instalment of my SKZ Scarefest! I’m sorry it’s so late in the day but I’ve spent all day at a theme park scarefest getting terrorised by clowns and dolls in terrifying mazes lmao. @silverlightprincess​ hasn’t actually proofread this but she proofreads everything else so I still want to thank her for being the best! I really hope you guys enjoy this bc it was really fun to write. please be sure to check out the previous parts and keep an eye out for the next parts too x

taglist: @kodzu-ken​ @cloudsgathering​ @silverlightprincess

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I wake up with something heavy on my face and a dizzy head from my mouth and nose being blocked. I try to take a deep breath and, instead, end up inhaling something soft and wispy, making me choke. I sit up suddenly, pushing the heavy thing off me with effort as I splutter, trying to empty my mouth of whatever it is that’s invaded it. And then I reach a finger into my mouth and end up pulling out feathers. Pure white and fringed feathers.

‘Did you just shove my wing, y/n?’ I hear Felix’s deep morning voice mumble into his pillow, and I shoot his back a dirty look, fishing his stupid feathers out of my mouth and trying to ignore the way I get butterflies in my stomach at hearing him say my name with that voice of his. He’s got his massive wings out for some stupid reason, one of them taking up my side of the bed whilst the other hangs over onto the floor. His hair, a lovely soft blond colour, is a fluffy mess on the pillow, and I can feel the heat that his body radiates despite only having the covers up to his hips, the band of his underwear just about visible.

I’ve been running into Felix quite a bit in the last few months – somehow he was always being assigned to humans in areas that I was… terrorising people in. Angels and demons have always had a… rocky relationship, but Felix was too pure, too kind, too sweet for me to be a bitch to him like I’ve been to all the other angels I’ve encountered. So I put up with his annoyingly sunny presence and his random acts of kindness and him stopping me from feeding on humans because ‘they haven’t done anything wrong!’ After him starving me for months, I got fed up and made a deal with him. I would scare the shit out of people to feed on them, and he would erase their memories so they wouldn’t be scarred for life. We became a… partnership of sorts, making me the most well-fed demon and him the highest achieving angel. To celebrate our successes, I took him to a new trendy bar last night and we got super drunk on fruity cocktails. And here we are now, with my cute red dress on the floor next to his black jeans.

‘Yes. I did. Because it was on top of me, suffocating me, and now I have a mouthful of your dumb feathers. Why are they even out? Put them away please?’ I ask harshly, injecting more annoyance into my voice than I feel, and Felix sighs, rolling his shoulders without moving from his position of being sprawled out on his front in my bed, and his wings slowly shrink, diminishing into his strong back, the only trace of them the two small bumps between his shoulder blades.

‘Don’t call my feathers dumb. I put a lot of effort into looking after them,’ he mumbles, voice still muffled in his pillow, and I roll my eyes, letting myself fall back against the bed. ‘Wouldn’t be able to tell. Coarse and ratty, they are,’ I tease half-heartedly, both of us knowing his feathers are softer than silk. ‘Like your hair,’ he replies in his wickedly deep voice, his amusement obvious in his tone, and I let out an outraged noise.

‘My hair is beautifully healthy, thank you. You should know – had your hands in it for hours last night,’ I pout, annoyed, as I pull the covers up around me, shivering. The room is absolutely freezing, due to the cold weather and the fact that I’m only in Felix’s thin white shirt and a pair of pants, so I can’t help but inch closer to him, his body radiating warmth. He doesn’t reply, but I don’t have any objections. I like my lazy morning lie-ins and it’d be nice to get a couple more hours of sleep.

‘Oh, shit,’ he says a few minutes later, sounding wide awake now, just as I’m beginning to drop off back to sleep, and I let out a loud huff of annoyance. ‘What?’ ‘I slept with you,’ he says as though he’s just found it out, lifting his head up from the pillow and looking at me with wide eyes. ‘Did you forget? I thought it was pretty memorable,’ I say offhandedly, amused. ‘It was. But I… I slept with you,’ he says, turning over and staring up at the ceiling, blinking in disbelief. ‘Right. I’m confused,’ I say, wondering if he’s lost his mind or something. My pussy’s good, but not that good. Or maybe it is? God knows. Actually, let’s hope God doesn’t know. She’ll probably kill Felix. Oh, right. I get why he’s freaking out now.

‘Oh, no. Angel boy’s having a mental breakdown because he fucked a demon, and God’s not gonna be happy,’ I tease in a light voice, holding back my laughter, and Felix sits up in bed, looking distraught. ‘She’s gonna kill me. She will actually kill me,’ he says quietly before dropping his head into his hands with a dramatic fake sob. ‘Oh, calm down. She doesn’t even need to know,’ I say, immensely amused, and Felix turns to me with distraught eyes. ‘She’ll know!’ ‘How? Unless one of us tells her, she won’t know,’ I say pointedly, telling him to keep his mouth shut but in nicer words.

‘But… she’s God. Won’t she just know?’ he asks, eyes wide like an innocent little kid, and I raise an eyebrow. ‘You’re not the first angel I’ve fucked, Lix.’ ‘I’m not?’ he asks, sounding sceptical, and I shoot him a dirty look. ‘Don’t sound so disbelieving. But, anyway, she’s never found out about those before. As long as you don’t blab, it’ll be fine,’ I say, and he nods, looking like he’s on the verge of tears.

‘Lix, relax. Stop panicking. You’re ruining the morning-after mood,’ I say softly after a minute of him just staring at the wall unseeingly. I slide my arms around his waist, pulling him down to lie beside me, and I curl into him instantly, revelling in the warmth of his bare skin. His arm comes around me, holding me against him, and I can sense him relaxing a little. I lay a hand on his chest, over the red lipstick marks that stain his skin, drawing patterns with my fingers, and after a few minutes, he puts his hand over mine, making me look up at him.

He takes me by surprise when he leans down and presses his lips to mine in a gentle kiss. My eyes flutter shut after the initial surprise, and I melt into him, hand sliding up from his chest to around the back of his neck, the short soft hairs at the nape of his neck tickling the pads of my fingers. His velvety lips are firm against mine, our mouths moving in sync, and I let out little breaths and whines against his mouth as his hands leisurely travel over my body, giving me butterflies in my stomach when his tongue slides into my mouth.

We break apart after a few minutes, the kiss leaving me breathless, and his lips quirk up in an amused grin. He might be the most angelic… angel in Heaven, but he touched me, kissed me, fucked me like a demon. ‘You’re cute,’ he murmurs, briefly pressing his lips to my forehead, and I try to ignore the little thrill in my chest, pouting at him instead. ‘I’m an evil demon that feeds on human fear. I’m not cute,’ I mumble, and he lets out a gentle chuckle. ‘You are. You’re a cute evil demon that feeds on human fear,’ he replies with a grin, and I roll my eyes. ‘Shut it, angel boy, you’re the cute one here.’ ‘Here I was thinking you found me sexy.’ ‘In your dreams, Lix,’ I murmur amusedly, and he raises an eyebrow. ‘Not what you were saying last night.’ ‘…Shut up.’

He laughs at me, pulling me closer to him, and I feel warm and secure in his arms. His angel aura is definitely shining through – it feels like nothing could harm me if he’s here. We cuddle in a comfortable silence, his fingers running through my hair soothingly, and my eyes flutter shut after a little while, slumber beginning to take me. ‘What happens now?’ he murmurs, bringing me back from my snooze, and I resist the urge to put my fist through his chest.

‘What do you mean?’ I ask, suppressing a yawn, and he sighs gently as I move off him, lying beside him so I can look him in the eyes. ‘Where do we… go from here?’ he asks, and I raise an eyebrow. ‘Um… you go back to Heaven and I go back to Hell,’ I reply, knowing that that’s not the kind of answer he’s looking for, and he rolls his eyes. ‘You know I don’t mean location. I mean… with us,’ he says tentatively, and I don’t react for a moment. ‘Are you asking me what we are?’ I ask, a little stunned, and he nods, looking like he wished he never asked.

‘We’re an angel and demon that have teamed up for our own interests, and we got drunk and slept together, which won’t affect our business partnership. Right?’ I say slowly, and I feel guilt twist in my heart when the hope disappears from his pretty brown eyes. ‘Right. Yeah. I just thought…’ he trails off, turning onto his back and not looking at me. ‘Thought what?’ I ask carefully, and he’s silent for a moment before sighing. ‘I thought that maybe it was something more. I mean… we’ve been spending a lot of time together, and I guess I have a bit of a… crush on you?’ he stammers, ending his sentence as a question as though he’s not quite sure.

He’s still not looking at me, and the words hit me like a ton of bricks. Felix, God’s favourite angel, has a crush on me, Lucifer’s favourite girl and a princess of the 9th circle of Hell? I’m not quite sure how to react to the words, just blinking in surprise for a moment. ‘You have a crush on me? Are you sure?’ I ask, and he lets out a little laugh, eyes still on the ceiling. ‘Yep, pretty sure. I’ve had a few months to think about it,’ he says offhandedly, and my mouth falls open. ‘You’ve had a crush on me the whole time?’ I demand, and he finally looks at me, nodding sheepishly.

‘Why didn’t you say anything, stupid?’ I exclaim, hitting his chest gently, and he lets out a light chuckle. ‘I didn’t want to ruin our friendship.’ ‘What friendship?’ I ask jokingly, and he looks at me deadpan. ‘Sorry. But seriously, are we, like, high schoolers? No. We’re centuries old supernatural beings. If you had a crush on me, you should’ve just told me, and taken me on a date. What is wrong with you?’ I demand, and he blinks at me several times. ‘Did you just say I should’ve taken you on a date?’ he asks, stunned, and I let out an annoyed noise. ‘Yes, keep up.’

‘But… you’re a demon, and I’m an angel.’ ‘Forbidden romances are better than normal ones. Like Cleopatra and Mark, Tristan and Isolde, Pyramus and Thisbe, Romeo and Juli-’ ‘Every one of those couples had a tragic end,’ Felix says dryly, an amused smile on his face, and I roll my eyes. ‘They were mortal, and were forbidden by their parents. It’s different.’ ‘Oh, yeah, we have God and Lucifer to deal with instead,’ he says sarcastically, making me raise an eyebrow. ‘Lucifer won’t care. It’s God that’s the issue. An easily solvable issue,’ I grin, and his face falls.

‘Are you plotting against God?’ he demands, looking completely outraged. ‘Don’t look so shocked, it’s not blasphemy for me. I’m a demon, stupid. But, no, I’m not plotting against her. I’m just gonna… talk to her,’ I say mildly, and he raises an eyebrow. ‘You’re gonna… talk to God? To get her to let us date?’ he asks, sounding disbelieving, and I nod simply. ‘She’ll kill you,’ he replies, eyes sparkling with mirth, and I just grin. ‘I think you’ll find I can be quite… persuasive,’ I reply, dragging my fingertips across his chest gently, the feeling of my long red nails lightly scraping his skin making his amusement disappear, a shaky breath leaving his lips. He blinks a few times, knocking himself out of his little trance. ‘I’m not sure trying to seduce her will work,’ he says lightly, and I smirk at him. ‘Oh, I know. I’m planning something else for her. It’s you I’m trying to seduce,’ I murmur, resting my thumb against my lower lip with a small smile, making my eyes all big, and I see him visibly gulp.

‘It’s working,’ he says distractedly, sliding his arms around me and pulling me on top of him, and I meet his mouth in a kiss, unable to keep the grin off my face as our lips move against each other in a way that numbs my mind. ‘Wait, wait,’ he says after a few seconds, breaking away from me. ‘Does this mean you like me too?’ he asks, looking hopeful, and I think for a moment. ‘You’ve got potential. You’re… handsome, and your personality isn’t totally annoying,’ I admit begrudgingly, heart skipping a beat at the big smile that comes across his face. ‘But,’ I add, making his smile fall a little, ‘some of the appeal is the fact that you’re a pure soul, a heavenly little angel, and I’m quite the opposite. I wanna knock your halo off, angel boy, so you better hope I don’t get bored when I’ve done so.’

He doesn’t react with the hurt I expected, a small smirk playing at his lips instead, and before I can realise that we’re moving, he’s rolled us over, his body hovering over mine. His locks fall over his eyes, casting shadows across his face, and his grin makes him look more like the demons I walk among than the angel he truly is. ‘Don’t worry about getting bored, y/n,’ he murmurs in his sinfully deep voice, one of his hands coming to rest at the base of my throat and making my skin burn hot with desire. I can’t help but mirror his grin, impressed at this very out of character behaviour. ‘Why not, Lix?’ I ask teasingly, and he just smirks, hand tightening at my neck, his sparkly eyes locking with mine. He captures my mouth in a passionate and desperate kiss, murmuring against my lips; ‘I’ll keep you entertained.’

[ninwrites]

a memory of love's refrain

Pairing: Joe/Nicky

Summary: a snapshot of an evening spent in a small Brooklyn apartment // circa 1940's

Joe trudges up the long staircase, his boots heavy against the wrought metal. He’d bargained with Nicky about the cost of four flights of stairs against the beautiful view it awarded when they had first decided to move to Brooklyn, because Nicky had been convinced it would be better for them to stay somewhere closer to the ground, as it would award them a quicker escape. Joe had hushed him, insisting the view would be worth it, and that upon the rare chance such a getaway would be required, he’d personally carry Nicky out to save time.

Of course, no view could compare to that which greets him when he steps past the threshold, already unlacing his boots before the door has even shut behind him. Joe could spot Nicky in a sea of thousands, could find him by the guide of his soul with his eyes closed; it is not quite so difficult to see him here, bustling about their small kitchen. Nicky likes to put a record on while he prepares food, and the music is magical and mournful, the lyrics winding around the room, echoed by his low humming. The air is filled with the sharp scent of peppers and garlic, the melody punctuated by the rhythmic grind of a porcelain pestle and mortar, which Joe had made as an anniversary gift for Nicky some time before, though neither could quite remember what exactly they were celebrating.

“Take a photo, habibi, it will last longer.” .

Joe laughs softly, absentmindedly wiping any excess grease from his hands on his denim overalls as he crosses their small apartment. “No image could ever capture your ethereal beauty, tesoro mio, the camera would shatter in my very hands, struck down by divine intervention.”

Nicky turns, his back leant against the countertop. There’s a smudge of red paste across his cheek that Joe follows with his thumb, nipping at the pad even as the bright scent of chili tickles his nose. “Angelo,” he whispers, reverent. Nicky is leaning into his touch before Joe has noticed that he’d moved, hands caressing each side of Nicky’s face with a grace reserved for holy things.

“You’re making Ojja,” Joe hums, pressing warm kisses to every plane of Nicky’s face that he can reach. “Oh, angelo, it is not just your face that the heavens carved from marble, it is your very heart.”

“Incurable,” Nicky mutters, hooking his thumbs in the back pockets of Joe’s overalls. “It has been a long week. I do not know about you, but I am missing our family greatly, and this is as close as I can think to having them here with us.”

“Love is that which makes a home, and your food is almost as sweet with it as you are.” Joe rests his forehead against Nicky’s, which is good as saying ‘I miss them too’.

“I always enjoy watching Booker’s face redden as he pretends the spices do not affect his delicate French sensibilities.” Nicky says, nonchalantly. Joe barks out a laugh, rough and warm.

“Mon amour,” Joe teases. “You’ll just have to make it for them when they return.”

Booker and Andy were both in Europe anticipating the repercussions of war, and Joe and Nicky were in America, as it was groundwork which often brought the more reliable information. They had created a lovely little home in a brick apartment near a dockyard where Joe played engineer, while Nicky established a presence in the neighbourhood, occasionally taking up work bagging at the local grocers a few blocks away to maintain appearances. They were bachelors, both orphaned at a young age, living together to save money - and it was working. No one batted an eyelid. The truth didn’t matter. History taught that people never stayed discontent in their circumstances for long, and they could feel conflict upon the horizon like the electricity of an oncoming storm.

Joe pulls back, pressing a kiss to Nicky’s hairline. “I am the luckiest man in the world.” He swipes his pinky along the ridge of the mortar, touching the tip to Nicky’s tongue. “Do you taste that?”

“Tastes like harissa.” Nicky points out.

Joe shakes his head, kissing the corner of Nicky’s mouth, chasing the heat. “That is joy, vita mia, that is life and love.”

“If I had known you would have returned so hungry, I would have packed you an extra sandwich.” Nicky pulls Joe in until their hips are pressed flush. “The ojja will not take long to cook. I was hoping to have a dance before dinner but perhaps we should eat while the sun is still high.”

“I would eat your food, stone-cold and seasoned with gravel, if it meant I could share the meal with you by my side.” Joe curls his hand against the newly shaved nape of Nicky’s neck. “A dance does sound quite lovely, though.”

“Then it is agreed.” Nicky presses a quick kiss to Joe’s cheek, the skin beneath warm and flushed. “What shall we dance to first? Any preferences?”

Nicky walks over to the gramophone, his hand curled around Joe’s without thought. The gramophone stands on a small table next to the window, on the sill of which sits a pot that is filled with whichever flower Joe had most recently procured for Nicky. The other day he had brought home roses from a local florist, which had cost a few dollars and gotten him a nice ribbing from the boys down the docks for being sweet on his mystery woman. It was all worth it for the shine in Nicky’s eyes when he brought them close to his face and took in their sweet scent, for the way he had whispered thank you against Joe’s mouth and the tender care in which he watered them each morning. When the flowers crumble, Joe will make potpourri of them, and their apartment will linger with the memory of the petals even as a new flower, a dahlia perhaps if he can find one that suits, takes pride in the sunlight.

“Something romantic,” Joe says, as though there is ever any other option.

Nicky hums, his focus on the small stack of records leant against the wall. Joe slips an arm around Nicky’s waist, his chin hooked over Nicky’s shoulder, pressing an idle kiss to his collarbone. Nicky has folded the sleeves of his linen shirt up to his elbows, his forearms warmed by the August sun and dusted with golden hairs. If he weren’t so preoccupied, Joe would have kissed from his elbow down to the pulse point of his wrist and across each finger tip.

The gramophone crackles as the needle spins, and then cheerful, warm jazz fills the room, carrying the voice of Annette Hanshaw: “you have a great way, an up-to-date way, of telling me you love me, it gives me such a thrill, I know it always will.”

Joe hums, taking a step back only to offer his right hand to Nicky, his left folded behind his back as he bows his head. “Nicolò.”

Nicky smiles, a tender and private thing, for Joe’s eyes only. “Yusuf.” The curve of his palm is a perfect fit against Joe’s open hand.

Joe presses a warm kiss against the ridges of Nicky’s knuckles. “It would be the greatest honour of my life to dance with you around our kitchen on this fine evening.”

Outside the window, a pigeon coos. Nicky’s head tilts. “While I feel it necessary to point out that I did ask you first, if I recall correctly, you professed the very exact thing last night.”

Joe, undeterred, draws on Nicky’s hand to bring him closer. “Then, perhaps you would do me the honour twice? You know, they invented music for lovers.”

Nicky’s eyebrows creep up, the corner of his mouth drawn up into a sly smile. “Yusuf, I’m not sure there is anything in existence which you don’t believe was invented for lovers. Everything from the moon, to a simple loaf of bread, to the game of chess.”

Joe undoes the top two buttons of Nicky’s shirt, leaving the front of his chest exposed, his collarbone protruding like a hawk’s wing. “Everything that I am, that I do, is borne from love.” He slips his hand beneath Nicky’s shirt, palm pressed over his heart. “Who would I be without it? Who would I be if I had not fallen for my beautiful enemy?”

Joe makes a pointed noise in the back of his throat, shaking his head just enough that his curls, when he ducks his head to press a kiss against Nicky’s sternum, brush against the underside of Nicky’s chin. “Every day that I wake up next to you is a good day, for I get to live it in your shadow.”

Nicky’s hands cradle Joe’s face, as though he is holding something precious, a great treasure worth revering.

“Yusuf.” Nicky tips his forehead against Joe’s, his lips brushing against the bridge of Joe’s nose.

He’d broken it the second day of their acquaintance, swung his arm wide with a force so great it sent Joe sprawling to the floor. Joe had laughed through bloody hands, his lips and teeth stained bright red. It was the first sign of fire that he’d ever seen in Nicky, and that same spark flickers behind Nicky’s eyes now.

“You have never been in my shadow.” Nicky whispers. “You have always been my sun.”

He draws Joe in for a deep kiss, stepping back and trusting that Joe will follow, and he always does - he’d once walked to the ends of the earth across burning sand without even knowing Nicky’s name. The rest is easy.

“If music was made for lovers as you so profess, then we must dance to it.” Nicky whispers against Joe’s cheek, letting his arms rest on Joe’s shoulders, his hands hooked loosely behind his neck.

They sway, from one side to the other, and it’s less a dance and more the flow of the record rising from within them, their bodies moving in time with the echo of their hearts. Joe clutches at Nicky’s elbow, fingers caught in the linen, soft against his worn touch. His other hand slips around to press against the small of Nicky’s back, at the bottom of his spine, where Joe had once run him through with a scimitar.

The gramophone skips, Nat King Cole’s rich voice filling the room. Nicky tips his head, his eyes half-lidded. Joe hums along, soothing his hand up Nicky’s arm and around his shoulder, his fingers tapping along the ridge of Nicky’s spine. Nicky hides his smile against the cut of Joe’s jaw, pressing a kiss to his pulse point, letting the warmth of Joe’s skin radiate around him, the scent of saltwater from the docks mixing with the orange notes of his cologne, at once familiar and calming.

“Would you sing for me, Nicolò?” Joe asks, his hands tracing secrets and lines against Nicky’s back. Nicky doesn’t protest about how his voice isn’t that great, because he knows it would be a waste of time, and besides that, he doesn’t mind.

“The melody haunts my reverie and I am once again with you,” His voice is low, and it cracks on some of the words, but he can feel Joe’s smile against his ear, knows his eyes are closed. He insists it helps him hear better. “When our love was new and each kiss an inspiration.”

Joe peppers the line of Nicky’s neck with half-open kisses, peeling the collar of his shirt back as far as he can, across his shoulder and down his chest, his breath ghosting across Nicky’s skin in huffs of heated air.

“But that was long ago,” Nicky’s voice drops to a whisper. “And now my consolation is in the stardust of a song.”

The sun has already begun to sink into the horizon. Nicky pulls back, admiring the way the sunlight casts Joe’s profile in shadows, caught in his air, reflecting off the gold in his eyes.

They’ll have to eat by candlelight tonight. Joe will love it.